


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 


CliapTFZJb Copyright 

Shelf^VA.BSi-TT 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



i 





\ 



■1 . 



A TRAITOR IN 
LONDON 


FERGUS HUME 

Author of 

‘‘The Mystery of a Hansom Cab/’ “Hagar of the Pawn Shop,” 
Etc., Etc. 



F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY 

9 AND 1 1 EAST SIXTEENTH STREET, NEW YORK 

LONDON— JOHN LONG 


THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

MAR. 12 1901 

Copyright entry 

^ C €» 

CLASS*^ 5^^. N*. 

3 /4 /S' 

COPY B. 










Copyright, 1900 

BY 

F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY 



c c 
c c 


c c 


c t • 

« c< 




••t 




A Traitor in London 


A Traitor in London 


CHAPTER 1. 

CUPID IN LEADING STRINGS. 

It’s an infernal shame! ” 

I call it common sense! ” 

“Call it what you please, Malet. I deny your right 
to keep back my money.” 

“Right? Your father’s will gives me every right. 
If I approve of your marriage, the money will be paid 
down on your wedding day.” 

“But you don’t approve, confound you! ” 

“Certainly not. Brenda Scarse is not the wife for 
you, Harold.” 

“That’s my business.” 

“Mine also — under the will. Come, come now; 
don’t lose your temper.” 

The elder speaker smiled as he proffered this advice, 
knowing well that he was provoking his cousin beyond 
all bounds. Harold Burton was young, fiery-tempered, 
and in love. To be thwarted in his love was some- 
thing more than exasperating to this impetuous lover. 
The irritating request that he should keep his temper 
caused him to lose it promptly; and for the next five 


8 


A Traitor in London. 


minutes Mr. Gilbert Malet was witness of a fine ex- 
hibition of unrestrained rage. He trembled for the 
furniture, almost for his own personal safety, though 
he managed to preserve a duly dignified outward calm. 
While Harold stamped about the room, his burly 
cousin posed before a fireless grate and trimmed hi^ 
nails, and waited until the young man should have ex- 
hausted this wholly unnecessary display of violence. 

They were in the library of Holt Manor. It was a 
sombre, monkish room ; almost ascetic in its severity. 
Bookcases and furniture were of black oak, carpet and 
curtains of a deep red color; and windows of stained 
glass subdued the light suitably for study and medita- 
tion. But on this occasion the windows were open to 
the brilliant daylight of an August afternoon, and shafts 
of golden sunshine poured into the room. From the 
terrace stretching before the house, vast woods sloped 
toward Chippingholt village, where red-roofed houses 
clustered round a brawling stream, and rose again on 
the further side to sweep to the distant hills in un- 
broken masses of green. Manor and village took their 
Teutonic names from these forests, and buried in 
greenery, might have passed as the domain of the 
Sleeping Beauty. Her palace was undoubtedly girdled 
by just such a wood. 

But this sylvan beauty did not appeal to the pair 
in the library. The stout, domineering owner of the 
Manor who trimmed his nails and smiled blandly had 
the stronger position of the two, and he knew it well 
— so well that he could afford to ignore the virile wrath 
of his ward. Strictly speaking, Captain Burton was 
not a ward, if that word implies minority. He was 


9 


Cupid in Leading Strings. 

thirty years of age, in a lancer regiment, and possessed 
of an income sufficient to emancipate him from the 
control of his cousin Gilbert. Still, though possible 
for one, his income was certainly not possible for 
two, and if Gilbert chose he could increase his capital 
by twenty thousand pounds. But the stumbling-block 
was the condition attached to the disposal of the 
money. Only if Malet approved of the prospective 
bride was he to part with the legacy. As such he did 
not approve of Brenda Scarse, so matters were at a 
standstill. Nor could Harold well see how he was to 
move them. Finding all his rage of no avail, he 
gradually subsided and had recourse to methods more 
pacific. 

'‘Let me understand this matter clearly,” he said, 
taking a seat with a resolute air. “ Independent of my 
three hundred a year, you hold twenty thousand 
pounds of my money.” 

“To be correct,” replied Malet in a genial tone, “I 
hold forty thousand pounds, to be equally shared be- 
tween you and your brother Wilfred when you marry. 
The three hundred a year which you each possess I 
have nothing to do with.” 

“Well, I want to marry, and ” 

“You do — against my wishes. If I do not approve 
of your choice I need not pay you this money. I can 
hold it until I die.” 

“And then asked Harold, sharply. 

Gilbert shrugged his burly shoulders. “ Then it goes 
to you and Wilfred direct. There is no provision 
made for my handing it over to another trustee. 
You are bound to get your share in the long run; 


10 A Traitor in London. 

but I am not thinking^ of dying just yet, my dear 
Harold.” 

“I can’t imagine what possessed my father ever to 
make so foolish a will.” 

“Your father was guided by experience, my boy. 
He made a miserable marriage himself, and did not 
want you or Wilfred to go and do likewise. He had 
evidently confidence in my judgment, and knew that 
I would stand between you and folly.” 

“Confound your impudence,” shouted Harold, his 
dark face crimson with anger. “ You’re only fifteen 
years older than 1 am. At the age of thirty 1 am surely 
capable of selecting my own wife! ” 

“ 1 hardly think so, when you select Miss Scarse! ” 
“What the deuce have you against her ? ” 

“Nothing, personally. She is a nice girl, a very nice 
girl, but poor. A man of your extravagant tastes 
should marry money. Brenda is well enough, for her- 
self,” continued Malet, with odious familiarity, for 
which Harold could have struck him, “but her father! 
— Stuart Scarse is a Little Englander! ” 

Captain Burton was taken aback at the irrelevancy 
of this remark. “ What the devil has that to do with 
her or me ?” he demanded bluntly. 

“Everything, if you love your country. You be- 
long to a Conservative family. You are a soldier, and 
the time is coming when we must all rally round the 
flag and preserve the Empire. Scarse is a member of 
that pernicious band which desires the dismember- 
ment of our glorious ” 

“Oh, I’m sick of this!” Harold jumped up and 
crammed on his cap. “Your political ideas have 


11 


Cupid in Leading Strings. 

nothing to do with my marriage. You have no reason 
to object to Miss Scarse. Once for all, will you pay 
me this money ?” 

“No, I will not. I shall not agree to your marrying 
the daughter of a Little Englander.” 

“Then 1 shall throw the estate into Chancery.” 

Malet looked uneasy, but sneered. “By all means, 
if you want the whole forty thousand to go to fee the 
lawyers! But, before you risk losing your money, let 
me advise you to make sure of Miss Brenda Scarse! ” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“Ask Mr. van Zwieten, who is staying with her 
father.” 

“Oh!” said Harold, contemptuously, “Brenda has 
told me all about him. Her father wants her to marry 
him, and it is true he is in love with her; but Brenda 
loves me, and will never consent to become the wife 
of that Boer! ” 

“ Van Zwieten is no Boer. He is a Dutchman, born 
in Amsterdam.” 

“And a friend of yours,” sneered Captain Burton. 

“He is no friend of mine!” shouted Malet, some- 
what ruffled. “I detest the man as much as I do 
Scarse. If ” 

“ Look here, Gilbert, I don’t want any more of this. 
I trust Brenda, and I intend to marry her.” 

“ Very good. Then you’ll have to starve on your 
three hundred a year.” 

“ You refuse to give me the money ? ” 

“ Absolutely.” 

“Then I’m glad I don’t live under your roof and 
can tell you what I think of you. You are a mean 


12 


A Traitor in London. 


hound, Malet— keep back, or I’ll knock you down. 
Yes, a mean hound! This is not your real reason for 
refusing to pay me this money. I’ll go up to town 
to-day and have your trusteeship inquired into.” 

Gilbert changed color and looked dangerous. “ You 
can act as you please, Harold; but recollect that my 
powers are very clearly defined under the will. I am 
not accountable to you or to Wilfred or to any one 
else for the money. I have no need to defend my 
honor.” 

“That we shall see.” Harold opened the door and 
looked back. “This is the last time I shall enter your 
house. You meddle with my private affairs, you keep 
back money rightfully belonging to me on the most 
frivolous pretext, and, in fact, make yourself objec- 
tionable in every way; but, I warn you, the law will 
force you to alter your behavior.” 

“The law cannot touch me!” cried Gilbert, furi- 
ously. “ I can account for the money and pay it when 
it should be paid. Out of my house ! ” 

“lam going — and, see here, Gilbert Malet, if the 
law affords me no redress, 1 shall take it into my own 
hands. Yes, you may well turn pale. I’ll make it hot 
for you — you swindler! ” and Captain Burton, banging 
the door, marched out of the house, furious at his 
helpless position. 

Left alone, Malet wiped his bald forehead and sank 
into a chair. “Pooh!” he muttered, striving to re- 
assure himself. “ He can do nothing. I am his 
cousin. My honor is his honor. I’m in pretty deep 
water, but I’ll get ashore yet. There’s only one way 
— only one!” Then Mr. Malet proceeded to cogitate 


13 


Cupid in Leading Strings. 

upon that one and only way, and the obstacles which 
prevented his taking it. His thoughts for the next half 
hour did not make for peace of mind altogether. 

Meanwhile, Captain Burton, fuming with rage, 
strode on through the green woods to the lady of 
his love. They had arranged to meet and discuss the 
result of this interview. As Mr. Scarse did not ap- 
prove of his attentions toward his daughter, the cot- 
tage where she dwelt was forbidden ground to Harold. 
He was compelled, therefore, to meet her by stealth in 
the woods. But the glorious summer day made that 
no hardship. He knew the precise spot where Brenda 
would be waiting for him — under an ancient oak, 
which had seen many generations of lovers — and he 
increased his pace that he might the sooner unburden 
to her his mind. As he left the park and made his 
way through the orchards which surrounded Chip- 
pingholt, he saw Mr. Scarse no great distance away. 

That’s a queer get-up the old man’s got on,” 
muttered Harold, perplexed at the wholly unusual 
combination of a snuff-colored greatcoat and a huge 
black scarf. “Never saw him in that rig before. I 
wonder what it means! ” 

As he came up within a dozen paces of the thin, 
white-haired figure, he was more than ever puzzled, 
for he noticed that the black scarf was of crape — 
there must have been several yards of it wound round 
the old man’s neck. It was undoubtedly Mr. Scarse. 
There was no mistaking that clean-shaven, parchment- 
like visage. Burton took off his cap in greeting, but 
did not speak. He knew the old man was not well 
disposed toward him. Mr, Scarse looked blankly at 


A Traitor in London. 


14 

him and pressed on without sign of recognition; and 
even though he had half expected it, Captain Burton 
felt mortified at this cut direct. 

“Brenda and 1 will have to marry without his con- 
sent,” he thought; “ never mind! ” 

But he did mind. To marry a girl in the face of 
parental opposition was all against his inclinations. 
The future looked dismal enough to him at the mo- 
ment, and his spirits were only further depressed as 
the sky began to blacken over with portentous clouds. 
Impressionable as he was, this endorsement of nature 
was full of meaning for him in his then pessimistic 
frame of mind. The sunshine faded to a cold grey, 
the leaves overhead shivered, and seemed to wither at 
the breath of the chill wind; and when he caught 
sight of Brenda’s white dress under the oak, her figure 
looked lonely and forlorn. The darkling sky, the 
bitter wind, the stealthy meeting, the solitary figure — 
all these things struck at his heart, and it was a pale and 
silent lover who kissed his sweetheart under the ancient 
tree. His melancholy communicated itself to Brenda. 

“Bad news, dear — you have bad news,” she mur- 
mured, looking into his downcast face. “I can see it 
in your eyes.” 

They sat silent on the rustic seat. The birds had 
ceased to sing, the sun to shine, and the summer 
breeze was cold — cold as their hearts and hands in 
that moment of sadness. 

They were a handsome couple. The man tall, 
thin-flanked, and soldiery of bearing; dark eyes, dark 
hair, dark moustache, and a clean-cut, bronzed face, 
alert, vivacious, and full Qf intelligen.g^, Brenda was 


Cupid in Leading Strings. ij' 

a stately blonde, golden-haired, blue-eyed, and pas- 
sionate as one of those stormy queens of the Nibel- 
ungen Lied, to whom love, insistent and impassioned, 
was as the breath of life. Both were filled with the 
exuberant vitality of youth, fit to overcome all ob- 
stacles, greatly daring and resolutely courageous. 
Yet, seated there, hand in hand, they were full of de- 
spondency — even to cowardice. Brenda felt that was 
so, and made an effort to rouse herself and him. 

“Come, dear," she said, kissing her lover, “the sun 
will shine again. Things can’t be so bad as to be past 
mending. He has refused.^" 

“ Absolutely. He won’t give me the money.’’ 

“On the ground that he does not approve of me! " 
Harold nodded. “He tried to make out that you 
were in love with Van Zwieten! ’’ 

“Oh! he is so ready to stoop to any meanness," 
said Brenda, scornfully. “I always disliked Mr. Malet. 
Perhaps my dislike is hereditary, for my father detests 
him." 

“On political grounds.^" 

“ Of course. But those are strongest of all grounds 
for hatred. Religion and politics have caused more 
trouble and more wars than — ’’ she broke off sud- 
denly. “Of course you don’t believe this about Mr. 
van Zwieten." 

“Need you ask?" said Burton, tenderly. “The 
fellow is staying with you still ? ’’ 

“ Yes. He has been here for the last two days talk- 
ing politics with father, and worrying me. Thank 
goodness, he goes to-morrow! ’’ 

“Glad of it," growled Burton. “He is the Beast 


i6 A Traitor in London. 

mentioned in Revelation. By the way, Brenda, who 
is Van Zwieten ?” 

Miss Scarse looked puzzled. “A friend of my 
father’s.” 

“Yes; but what is his position — where does he 
come from — how does he make his income? There 
is something mysterious about the fellow.” 

“He comes from Holland — he is a friend of Dr. 
Leyds — and he is shortly going out to fill some post 
under the Transvaal Government. That’s all 1 know 
about him.” 

“ He seems to have plenty of money.” 

“ Yes, he spends a good deal, to judge from what 1 
saw of him in town last season. Then he is a popular 
cricketer, you know.” 

“ 1 know. But the idea of a foreigner playing 
cricket! ” 

“ Well, Mr. van Zwieten does, and very well too. 
You must have seen about his play in the papers. He 
is a great man at Lord’s.” 

“All the same, he is a mystery; and he is too much 
mixed up with the Boers to please me. If there is a 
war, 1 hope he’ll be with them that 1 may have a shy 
at him.” 

Brenda laughed, and pressed her lover’s arm. 
“ You silly boy, you are jealous.” 

“1 am, 1 am. Who wouldn’t be jealous of you? 
But this is not war, Brenda dear. Let us talk about 
ourselves. 1 can’t get this twenty thousand pounds 
until Malet dies. 1 see nothing for it but to marry on 
my three hundred a year. I dare say we’ll scrape 
along somehoWf" 


Cupid in Leading Strings. 17 

“I have two hundred a year of my own,” cried 
Brenda, vivaciously; “that makes ten pounds a week. 
We can easily manage on that, dear.” 

“ But your father ?” 

“Oh, he wants me to marry Mr. van Zwieten, of 
course,” said she, with great scorn. “ So 1 must just 
do without his consent, that’s all. It sounds wrong, 
Harold, doesn’t it ? But my father has never done his 
duty by me. Like most men who serve the public, 
he has sacrificed his all to that. I was left to bring 
myself up as best I could; and so 1 think I have the 
right to dispose of myself. My father is nothing to 
me — you are everything.” 

“ Dearest! ” He kissed her. “Then let us marry — 
but no — ” he broke off abruptly. “If war should 
break out in South Africa 1 would have to leave you! ” 

“But I wouldn’t be left,” said Brenda, merrily. “I 
would go out with you — yes, to the front!” 

“ I’m afraid you couldn’t do that.” 

“I could and I would. I would go officially as a 
nurse. But, Harold, why don’t you see your lawyer 
about this money ? He may find means to force Mr. 
Malet to pay it to you.” 

“I intend to see him to-morrow, dearest. I am 
going up to town by the six train this evening, though 
I confess I don’t like leaving you with this Van 
Zwieten.” 

“I think I can undertake to keep Mr. van Zwieten 
at his distance,” said Brenda, quietly, “even though 
my father encourages him.” 

“I believe your father hates me,” said Harold, 
gloomily, He cut me just now," 


i8 A Traitor in London. 

“ Cut you, dear; what do you mean 

"‘Just what I say, Brenda. I met you father, and 
he cut me dead.” 

She stared at her lover in amazement. You can’t 
possibly have seen my father,” she said decisively. 

He is ill with influenza, and hasn’t left his room for 
two days! ” 


CHAPTER II. 


A SHOT IN THE DARKNESS. 

After many and fervent farewells, the lovers em- 
braced and went home. It was understood that 
Harold should go to London that evening by the five 
o’clock local from Chippingholt, which connected 
with the express at Langton Junction, some twenty 
miles away. After seeing his lawyer, he was to write 
her a full account of the interview, and arrange defi- 
nitely the details for their marriage. Meanwhile, to 
set his mind at rest, Brenda promised to see as little of 
Van Zwieten as possible. 

As her father was ill, she was compelled to play the 
part of hostess — an ungrateful one enough toward a 
guest she so disliked — but as the Dutchman had 
arranged to leave next morning, she hoped for so 
short a time to obey the laws of hospitality, and at the 
same time keep him at his distance. But even so 
the situation was a trying one, and Brenda relished 
it little. 

The cottage was an unpretentious little place on the 
borders of Chippingholt, where the orchards began 
to stretch toward the woods. Scarse was not well 
off, and had been fortunate enough to obtain it at 
quite a nominal rental. He kept a cook and one 
housemaid, both of whom Brenda looked after; and 
despite his slender means, his style Qf living was in 
19 


20 


A Traitor in London. 


every .way refined. The largest room in the house 
had been turned into a study, and here Brenda now 
found her father buried in blue-books, pamphlets and 
newspapers. 

Scarse was a lean, tall ansemic-looking creature. 
His hair was quite white, his pallid and wrinkled face 
clean-shaven, and his whole aspect was one of 
peevishness and querulousness. In spite of the warmth 
he had ordered a fire to be lighted, and, wrapped in a 
llama wool dressing-gown, he crouched over it with 
the Daily Mail spread out upon his knees. He 
looked ill and cross, and seemed terribly feeble. 
Brenda was more than ever certain, now that she 
saw him, that Harold had been mistaken in thinking it 
was he whom he had met. He looked, she thought, 
more fit for bed than for walking. 

“Come in, come in,” he said in his thin, cantanker- 
ous voice. “Shut the door, Brenda; there is quite a 
draught.” 

“Are you no better, father?” she asked, coming 
toward him and taking his hand. Scarse snatched it 
away. 

“Not a bit, my dear. This thing has a hold of me 
— 1 am aching all over. Of course it comes just to 
prevent my speaking at the Trafalgar Square meeting 
next week! ” 

“ You can send an excuse.” 

“1 can’t and 1 won’t,” snapped her father. “This 
paper shows me how necessary it is for all men to 
protest against this unjust war, which has been forced 
upon the Boers. 1 must speak in favor of that 
honest, Go^-fe^ring band of farmers, who are in dan^ 


A Shot in the Darkness. 


21 


ger of being crushed by a capitalist war. I want to 
see Van Zwieten about this article. It is perfectly 
scandalous. Where is he ?” 

“I don’t know. I’ve not seen him all the after- 
noon.” 

“ Is that the way you attend to your guests ? ” 

'' He is no guest of mine,” cried Brenda, indignantly, 
can’t bear the man. His mere presence is most 
objectionable to me.” 

'‘You are a foolish, strong-headed girl, Brenda. 
Van Zwieten wants to marry you, as I have told you, 
and he is ” 

“ I won’t marry him. I detest the man.” 

“ And you fancy you are in love with that scamp of 
a Burton ?” said Scarse, frowning. 

“ Harold is not a scamp, father. He is noble and 
honest, and everything that is good. I will marry no 
one but him.” 

“I shall never give my consent — never! ” 

“Then I must do without it,” replied Brenda, deter- 
minedly. “ I do not want to behave otherwise than as 
a daughter should, father, but I love Harold, and I hate 
Van Zwieten.” 

“ Don’t be silly,” said the M. P., querulously. “ Van 
Zwieten is well off. He is a good match for you. He 
can give you a good position.” 

“In the Transvaal, I suppose,” scoffed Brenda. 

“ Yes. And where could you live better than in a 
new land, where the vices of civilization have not 
penetrated! I don’t speak of Johannesberg, that sink 
of iniquity, but of Pretoria, and of those tgwns where 
the Boer element exists pur? and simple, With your 


22 


A Traitor in London. 


husband in the Government you can help him to build 
up an ideal state.” 

"‘I don’t want to build up anything. Harold and I 
can be happy by ourselves.” 

“ You shall never marry the scamp, I tell you,” cried 
Scarse, angrily. “Let alone his character, which is 
bad, he is the cousin of that scoundrel Malet, who is a 
bigoted Imperialist — one who is doing his best to ruin 
this country by advocating annexation of all and every- 
thing. He is one of those who are urging on this war. 
I hate the man.” 

“Only because you differ from him in politics.” 

“No, on other grounds which do not concern you. 
1 know Malet — none better — and I would gladly see 
him dead.” 

‘ ‘ Father ! ” Brenda was amazed at the savage energy 
of the old man. “What has Mr. Malet done to you 
that you should hate him so ?” 

“Never mind! I hate him and I hate that young 
Burton.” 

“Well, father,” said Brenda, quietly, “you need not 
have shown it quite so plainly to-day. Harold said 
you met him this afternoon and cut him.” This was 
a tentative remark, as Brenda was certain her father 
could not have been out. 

“Met Burton!” said he, raising himself angrily. 
“ What do you mean, child ?” 

“Were you not out to-day ? ” 

“No, I have not left this room.” 

“ But Harold said he saw you with a snuflf-colored 
coat and a crape scarf round your throat. Father!” 
Brenda shrieked, “ what is it ? ” 




A Shot in the Darkness. 


23 

She might well ask. Scarse was always pale, but 
now he was deathly white. He reared himself out 
of i.is chair with a look of terror in his eyes. It was 
in broken sentences he spoke. “Did . . . Harold 

Burton . . . see me . . . with a crape scarf 

. . . to-day ? ” 

“Yes, yes; but was it you, father? Why did you 
wear ” 

“Hush! Say no more, Brenda. Go away." 

A faint color was coming back to his face, and he 
began to look more like himself, less like a corpse. 
Brenda was about to demur at leaving him, but he 
stopped her with a peremptory gesture. “Go away, 
Brenda, I say." 

“But won’t you explain " 

“There is nothing to explain; go away." 

She was obliged to obey, and reluctantly she left 
the room. She could not understand her father’s 
emotion, nor could she understand the presence in 
Chippingholt of this man with the crape scarf, who so 
nearly resembled him as to be mistaken for him by 
Harold. So far as she knew her father had no relatives. 
But he had always been very reticent about his family 
affairs. She knew nothing of his connections or his 
past life. Her mother she could scarce remember. 
She had died when Brenda was a tiny child, and ever 
since that time she had been brought up by strangers 
far away from home. Up to the age of twenty she 
had been at a boarding-school, and there she had seen 
next to nothing of her fatheV. A casual visit on his 
part, and a few casual questions as to her welfare — her 
mental welfare chiefly— that represented Brenda’s ex- 


24 A Traitor in London. 

perience of the domestic affections and a father’s love. 
When she had come of age Scarse had sent for her, 
and had established her in the cottage at Chippingholt, 
giving her occasionally a week in London during the 
season. He retained his bachelor chambers in Start 
Street, Piccadilly, but never took her there, and ever 
kept her at arm’s length when she hungered for sym- 
pathy and love. No wonder, then, that in the all- 
important matter of her marriage she felt no inclination 
to obey the man who had been to her but a father in 
name: and no wonder she had fallen in love with 
Harold Burton, and was bent now on linking her life 
with his. He was the one human being who had held 
out to her affection and sympathy, and from him she 
determined no earthly power should part her. Her 
father treated her as a pawn on the chessboard of life, 
to be moved about as best suited his own purpose. 
She regarded herself as a human being, with the right to 
consider her own happiness, and to work out her own 
destiny. 

“ Never will 1 marry Van Zwieten,” she reiterated to 
herself as she dressed for dinner. “The man is a 
tyrant and a brute. Father has done nothing for me 
that 1 should sacrifice myself so for him. Together 
Harold and 1 will shape a new life for ourselves. If 
father’s neglect has done nothing else for me, it has at 
least made me self-reliant.” 

As she expected, her father did not appear at dinner, 
alleging his megrims as the reason for his non-appear- 
ance. But Brenda had a very shrewd idea that the 
appearance of this unknown man, who so resembled 
him, had more to do with it. She felt sure there was 


A Shot in the Darkness. 2 ^ 

some sort of mystery. Her father’s life was altogether 
so secretive. But she did not let it disturb her, and 
dismissed it from her mind, until a chance remark 
from Van Zwieten again roused her curiosity. 

The Dutchman was tall of stature — well over six feet, 
and stout in proportion. A well set-up figure as- 
suredly, and what would be termed a fine animal. 
His hair and beard were of an ochre color, and his 
sleepy blue eyes, although seeming to observe nothing, 
on the contrary took in everything. His complexion 
was delicate as a woman’s, and he was slow and soft 
of speech and movement. A casual observer might 
have set him down as lethargic and small-brained. 
But Brenda knew that he possessed a fund of energy 
and cunning and dogged determination which could 
be exerted to the detriment of those whom his sleepy 
looks deceived. Those blue eyes could sparkle with 
fire, that soft, low voice could ring out like a trumpet, 
and that huge frame could be active and supple as any 
serpent. Waldo van Zwieten he was called, and he 
had lived in London now for the past five years. 

He spoke three or four languages, especially English, 
with wonderful purity and fluency. He appeared to 
have plenty of money, and for the most part devoted 
himself to cricket as an exhilarating pastime for an 
idle man. In the capacity of a crack batsman he was 
highly popular. No one deemed him anything but a 
lazy foreigner — good-natured, and loving England and 
the English sufficiently well to become an English sub- 
ject in all but an official sense. But he had never taken 
out letters of naturalization. 

He was correctly attired now in evening dress, and 


26 


A Traitor in London. 


took his seat at the table in his usual sleepy fashion. 
His blue eyes rested with a look of admiration on 
Brenda, whose blonde beauty was more dazzling than 
ever in her dinner dress of black gauze and silk. She 
apologized for her father’s absence, and winced at 
Van Zwieten’s compliments. 

“ You leave me nothing to desire. Miss Scarse,” said 
he. “ I could wish for no more delightful position 
than this.” 

“Please don’t,” replied Brenda, annoyed. “I’m sure 
you would rather talk politics to my father than non- 
sense to me.” 

“I never talk nonsense to any one. Miss Scarse; 
least of all to you. Thank you, I will take claret. By 
the way, it was rather unwise of Mr. Scarse to go out 
to-day with this cold upon him.” 

“ He was not out to-day.” 

“ Indeed, I think so. I saw him and spoke to him.” 

“You spoke to him? Had he a snuff-colored coat 
and a crape scarf on ?” 

“No; he was dressed as usual in his tweed suit.” 

Brenda looked at him sceptically. Her father had 
denied being out. Yet this man said he had actually 
spoken with him, but according to him he was not 
dressed like the man. Harold had described. Could 
two men be so much alike ? And why had her father 
been so moved when she had related Harold’s experi- 
ence ? 

“Are you sure it was my father you spoke to ?” she 
asked, after a pause. 

Van Zwieten flashed a keen glance at her puzzled 
face, and was evidently as puzzled himself. “I am 


A Shot in the Darkness. 


27 

certain it was Mr. Scarse,” he said quietly. “I had no 
reason to think otherwise. Why do you doubt my 
word ?” 

“My father denies having been out.” 

“ In that case I should have said nothing. Mr. Scarse 
evidently has some reason for his denial. But cannot 
we select a more pleasant subject of conversation ? ” 

“Such as what.?^” demanded Brenda, wondering at 
this sudden change. 

“Yourself or Captain Burton. I saw him to-day.” 

“That is very likely,” she replied, quietly divining 
Van Zwieten’s intention. “ Captain Burton is staying 
at the ‘ Chequers Inn.’ At least he was staying there, 
but he left for London at five.” 

“Oh, indeed! He must have changed his mind 
then, for it was after six when I saw him.” 

“I suppose he is privileged to change his mind,” 
said Brenda. All the same she was puzzled to account 
for Harold’s remaining at Chippingholt. 

Thwarted in this direction. Van Zwieten tried an- 
other. He was bent on making Brenda confess an 
interest in Burton, so as to lead up to an explanation 
of his own feelings. “ It is strange,” said he, slowly, 
“that Captain Burton does not stay at the Manor.” 

“ Why do you think it strange, Mr. van Zwieten ? ” 

“ Ach! is it not strange ? His brother Wilfred stays 
there — he is there now. Mr. Malet is Captain Burton’s 
cousin, and he is hospitable — not to me,” added he, 
with a sleepy smile; “ Mr. Malet does not like me.” 

Brenda ignored this last remark. “ If you ask Cap- 
tain Burton for his reasons I have no doubt he will 
gratify your furiosity,” §he 5aid coldly. 


28 


A Traitor in London. 


“Oh, I do not care; it is nothing to me.” Van 
Zwieten paused, then resumed very deliberately, “I 
do not like Captain Burton.” 

“ Really! The loss is his.” 

“I do not like Captain Burton,” repeated Van Zwie- 
ten, “because he likes you.” 

“What has that to do with me.^” asked Brenda, 
injudiciously. 

“ Everything. I love you — I want to marry you! ” 

“ You told me all about that, Mr. van Zwieten, and 
I told you I was unable to marry you. It was agreed 
that we should drop the subject.” 

“Captain Burton loves you and wants to marry 
you,” pursued the big man, doggedly, “and so I do 
not like Captain Burton.” 

The situation was becoming embarrassing, but the 
man was evidently acting and speaking with a set 
purpose. “Please say no more, Mr. van Zwieten,” 
said Brenda, trying to control her temper. Still he 
went on resolutely. 

“When we are married we will see nothing of 
Captain Burton.” 

“ That will never be. I shall never marry you.” 

“Oh, yes; your father is willing.” 

“But 1 am not.” Brenda rose with a glance of 
anger. “How dare you take advantage of my father’s 
absence to insult me ?” 

“ 1 do not insult you,” went on the Dutchman, with 
a quiet smile. “One does not insult one’s future 
wife.” 

“ 1 would rather die than marry you! ” She walked 

to the door. You have no right to speak to me like 


A Shot in the Darkness. 


29 

this. I refuse to see you again, and I shall tell my 
father of your behavior.” 

She swept out of the room in a fury, feeling herself 
helpless in the face of the man’s persistency. Her 
departure, however, did not ruffle him in the least. 
He went on eating and smiling as though the inter- 
view had ended entirely to his satisfaction. After a 
good meal he lighted a cigar and went along to Mr. 
Scarse’s study. The door was locked. He knocked, 
but there was no answer. 

Van Zwieten was puzzled. There were matters 
connected with Mr. Scarse which he did not under- 
stand, and which he wished very much to understand. 
After pondering for a few moments, he put on a great- 
coat, in spite of the warmth of the night, a smasher 
hat of the Boer style, and stepped out by the front 
door. Thence he passed round to the French win- 
dows which lighted the study. The blinds were down, 
and the yellow lamplight shone through them from 
within. Van Zwieten tried the catch of one window. 
It yielded, and he slipped into the room. The lamp, 
fully turned up, was on the table; some papers were 
spread out on the blotting-pad on the desk, but there 
was no one in the room. He glanced at the papers, 
but could gather nothing from them to account for the 
absence of Scarse. He reflected, and recollected what 
Brenda had said. 

“A snuff-colored coat; a crape scarf!” he mused. 
“So!” Then he left the room, closed the window 
after him, and vanished stealthily as a cat into the 
blackness of the night. 

Meanwhile Brenda had gone to her room furious 


A Traitor in London. 


30 

with Van Zwieten and her father — with the former 
because he would persist in his attentions, with the 
latter because he exposed her to their annoyance. Not 
knowing that the Dutchman had gone out, she de- 
cided to remain upstairs, so as to avoid meeting him 
in the drawing-room. But her bedroom was so small, 
the night so hot, and she felt so restless, that eventu- 
ally she decided to go up to Holt Manor and see Lady 
Jenny. 

Gilbert’s wife was a pretty, frivolous woman, with 
a good heart, a long tongue, and an infinite capacity 
for wasting money. Malet was devoted to her, and 
it was common talk that she could twist him round 
her finger. If she interested herself in the matter there 
might be a chance still of Harold’s getting the money. 
Lady jenny always declared, in her exaggerated way, 
that Brenda was the sweetest girl in the world, so, 
putting on her hat and cloak, Brenda determined to 
learn whether Lady jenny really was her friend or 
merely a society acquaintance. 

The night was moonless, hot, and almost without 
air. What the Scotch call uncanny. All day clouds 
had been rolling up from the south, and now the sky 
was an immense mass of bluish-black vapor hanging 
low over the dry and gasping earth. No breath of wind, 
no sound of life, human or animal. The earth lay 
dumb under that tent of gloom. Brenda felt stifled as 
she took the short way through the orchards. Know- 
ing every inch of the ground, she made no mistake, 
and was occasionally aided by a vivid flash of light- 
ning, which ran in sheets of sudden flame from east to 
west. 


A Shot in the Darkness. 31 

With her nimble feet and her knowledge of all the 
short cuts, it took her only twenty minutes to arrive 
at the Manor. She noted the time — nine o’clock — for 
the village chimes rang out as she halted at the porch 
of the great house. Here she was doomed to disap- 
pointment, for Lady Jenny — as the servant informed 
her — had gone to the Rectory with Mr. Wilfred Bur- 
ton. 

“Mr. Malet went out for a stroll too, miss,” said 
the butler, who knew her very well; “but any mes- 
sage ” 

“Oh, no message, Roberts,” said Brenda, hurriedly; 
“ that is — 1 will call on Lady Jenny to-morrow. Good- 
night.” 

“Won’t you have an umbrella, miss? It looks 
stormy.” 

“No, thank you; I shall no doubt reach home before 
the storm breaks. Good-night.” 

But she was wrong in thinking so. Hardly had she 
left the park gates when the storm came. A blue zig- 
zag flared across the dark sky, there was a crash of 
thunder, and on the wings of a bitterly cold wind 
came the rain. The storm was tropical in its sudden- 
ness and fury. The wind struck Brenda like a solid 
mass, and she had to grasp the trunk of an apple-tree 
near by to keep her feet. With a hiss and a shriek 
the rain shot down — one deluge of water, as though 
the windows of heaven were opened as in the days of 
Noah’s flood. A furious wind tore at the tree-tops, 
rending boughs, clashing the branches together, and 
sending a myriad leaves flying abroad like swarms of 
bees. The drenching rain spattered and drummed on 


32 


A Traitor in London. 


the woods, and in the open was driven in slanting 
masses of water by the force of the blast. Anxious to 
get under shelter, and terrified by the fierce lightning, 
Brenda kilted up her skirts and ran blindly through the 
trees at the risk of breaking her head. Her feet 
squelched in the soaking grass, and she was shaken 
and driven like a leaf by the furious gusts. Still on 
she stumbled in a dazed condition. It was a witch 
storm, and the powers of hell rode on the flying 
clouds. 

Suddenly her foot tripped, and she fell full length 
on the grass, which was more like a morass. As she 
struggled to her knees the heavens overhead broke 
out in one dazzling sheet of flame, which for the 
moment threw a noonday light on the scene. There, 
under a tree, but a short distance away, Brenda saw a 
tall, dark, bulky figure standing. Hardly had the 
darkness shut down again when she heard a startled 
cry. Then a shot rang out with terrible distinctness, 
and then again the roaring of the tempest. Hardly 
knowing what she was doing, Brenda got on her feet, 
shaking and terrified. She ran forward. A second 
flare of lightning lighted the orchards with hell-fire, 
livid and blue. Almost at her feet she saw the body 
of a man. There came another deafening crash of 
thunder, and she staggered. A moment later and she 
lay senseless across the body of the unknown man 
shot in the darkness by an unknown hand. 


CHAPTER III. 


THE NAME OF THE VICTIM. 

The cook at Mr. Scarse’s cottage was in a great state 
of alarm. She did not mind an ordinary tempest of 
respectable English character coming at its due and 
proper season. But this gale, at the close of a quiet 
summer day, arriving with so little warning and raging 
with such fury, had frightened her beyond measure. 
As a precautionary measure against the frequent light- 
ning, she concealed the knives, covered up all the mir- 
rors and reflective surfaces generally, and threw the 
fire-irons into the garden. Having thus safeguarded 
the cottage against the bolts of heaven, Mrs. Daw — so 
she was called — insisted that the housemaid, a whim- 
pering orphan of meagre intelligence, should go round 
the house with her to see if any one or anything had 
been struck. They found dining-room, drawing-room 
and bedrooms deserted, and the door of their master’s 
study locked. 

“Lor’!” said Mrs. Daw, her fat face ashen pale, 
“an’ ’e may be lyin’ a corp in there, poor dear! ” 

“Oh, no, he ain’t,” responded the shaking house- 
maid; “1 'ear voices. Jus' put your eye to the key- 
hole, cook.” 

But the cook’s valor did not extend thus far. She 
also heard the murmur of voices, and, thinking her 
master and his friend the Dutchman were within, 
33 


34 


A Traitor in London. 


knocked at the door to bring them out for company. 
“We may as well go to ’eaven in a ’eap,” said Mrs. 
Daw, knocking steadily like a woodpecker. 

The door opened so suddenly that the two women 
recoiled with shrieks against the wall of the passage. 
Scarse, looking pale and upset, stepped out and closed 
the door after him. Judging him by themselves, they 
attributed his scared appearance to fright at the storm, 
and were ready to receive any amount of sympathy. 
But it soon appeared that their master had none to give 
them. 

“What’s all this? Why are you here?” he de- 
manded, angry and suspicious. 

“It’s the storm, sir,” whimpered Mrs. Daw, holding 
on to the housemaid. “ I’m that feared as never was. 
Miss Brenda’s hout, sir, and Mr. van Zwieten’s with 
you, and me an’ Tilda’s a-shakin’ like Jelly.” 

“ Miss Brenda out! ” repeated Scarse, starting. “ Oh, 
yes, I recollect she said something about going to the 
Rectory.” This was untrue, but he seemed to think it 
necessary to make some excuse even to the servants. 
“I dare say Miss Brenda has been storm-bound there, 
and, as you say, Mr. van Zwieten is with me. There 
is nothing to be afraid of. Go back to the kitchen.” 

“The ’ouse may be struck, sir! ” 

“The house won’t be struck,” said Scarse, impa- 
tiently. “Don’t be a fool. It is almost ten o’clock — 
go to bed;” and stepping back into the study, he 
closed and locked the door. Cook and housemaid tot- 
tered back to the kitchen. 

“ I’ll give notice to-morrer,” wailed the former. “ It 
ain’t right for two lone women to be without a manly 


The Name of the Victim. 


35 

arm. If 'e only kep’ a footman or a coachman it 'ud 
be a ’elp. ’And me the Church Service, Tilda, an’ 
we’ll pray as we may not be took.” 

“ Ow, ain’t it orful! ” yelped Tilda, as a fiercer blast 
than usual shook the cottage. “Turn up the Berryial 
Service, cook.” 

This request the cook hurriedly obeyed, and the 
two were soon cheerfully employed in drawing what 
comfort they could from this somewhat depressing 
selection. The clock struck ten, and so unstrung 
were their nerves that they simultaneously jumped 
and shrieked. 

Tilda declared that the candle burned blue; that a 
coal in the form of a coffin had jumped out of the 
kitchen range; and meanwhile the storm raved and 
howled without, shaking the house, tearing at doors 
and windows as though twenty thousand demons 
were trying to force an entrance. In their terrified 
frame of mind Mrs. Daw and her factotum actually be- 
lieved that such might be the case. 

But they soon had further cause for alarm. The 
kitchen door was tried, but Mrs. Daw had locked it. 
Immediately there came a furious knocking, insistent 
and incessant. Tilda shrieked, and scrambled under 
the table. Mrs. Daw dropped the Church Service, and 
grasped the poker with a trembling hand. There was 
a crash of thunder which went grinding over the roof 
— then the battering at the door again. 

“Quick! Quick! Let me in! ” wailed a voice, thin, 
high-pitched and terrified. 

“Don’t, don’t!” shrieked Tilda, grovelling under 
the table. “Oh, lor’, wot a bad girl I ’ave been.” 


A Traitor in London. 


36 

But Mrs. Daw, somewhat recovered from her terror, 
thought she recognized the voice, in spite of its accent 
of pain. “Yer’s a fool, Tilda. It’s Miss Brenda!” 
and she unlocked the door, still grasping the poker in 
case she should be mistaken. As the door flew open 
a wild blast tore into the kitchen, and Tilda shrieked 
again. Mrs. Daw, too, uttered an exclamation, for 
Brenda fell forward, flung into her arms. The girl 
was soaking wet, wild-eyed and white-faced with 
terror. She could hardly speak, and clung, choking 
and shaking, to the terrified cook. The door banged 
to with a crash. 

“Murder! Help! ” gasped Brenda, hoarsely. “Oh, 
my God! he is dead! ” 

“Dead! Murder!” shrieked Mrs. Daw, dropping 
the poker, and Tilda wailed in sympathetic chorus. 
“Lor’, miss! Who’s ’e?” 

“ 1 don’t know — he is dead— shot — in the orchards,” 
said Brenda, and fell down in a dead faint for the 
second time that night. Usually she was not given to 
such feminine weakness, but the terrors of the night 
had proved altogether too much for her. 

Having something human to deal with, Mrs. Daw 
recovered her presence of mind and unloosened 
Brenda’s cloak. “Poor dear! she’s frightened out of 
her wit^, an’ no wonder. Tilda, tell 'er pa there’s 
murders and faintings. Look sharp! ” 

Tilda crawled from under the table and across 
the floor. She raised herself with a sudden effort 
of will, and was soon hammering at the study 
door. 

“Master — sir! ’Elp — murder — perlice! Oh, sir,” as 


The Name of the Victim. 


37 

Scarse came out hurriedly, “Miss Brenda’s in the 
kitchen, an' there’s murder!” 

He seized her wrists with an ejaculation of alarm. 
“ Who is murdered ? Speak, girl 1 ” 

“ I don’t know. Miss Brenda sez as there’s murder. 
Oh, lor’, what will become of us! ” 

Scarse shook her so that her teeth chattered. “Go 
back to the kitchen,” he said sternly. “I’ll follow 
directly,” and Tilda found herself hurled against the 
wall, with the study door closed and locked. Her sur- 
prise at such treatment overcame even her terror. 

“Well, ’e is a father! ” she gasped, and her wits be- 
ing somewhat more agile now that she was less afraid, 
she flew to the dining-room and snatched the spirit- 
stand from the sideboard. With this she arrived in 
the kitchen and found Brenda regaining her senses. 

“Ain’t ’e cornin’?” asked Mrs. Daw, slapping 
Brenda’s hands violently as a restorative measure. 

“In a minute. ’Ere, give 'er some brandy. Where’s 
a glarss? Oh, a cup ’ll do. Oh, ain’t it all dreadful; 
just ’ear the wind! ” 

“Hold your tongue and lock the door,” said Mrs. 
Daw, snatching the cup from Tilda. “Come, miss, 
try and drink this.” 

She forced the strong spirit down Brenda’s throat. 
The girl gasped and coughed, then the color slowly 
mounted to her cheeks, and she raised her head feebly. 

“What is it?” she asked faintly. Then she shud- 
dered and covered her face. “ Ah! the murder! Shot! 
—shot— oh, God, how terrible!” 

“ Don’t you be afraid, miss; the doors are all locked, 
an’ nothin’ or no one can git in.” Then a shriek from 


A' Traitor in London. 


38 

Mrs. Daw followed a sudden clanging of the bell. 
“ Whatever’s that.?” 

“Front door,” replied Tilda, casting a glance at the 
row of bells. “I’ll answer; give 'er more brandy, 
cook.” 

As the housemaid left, Brenda moaned and struggled 
to her feet. “Oh, the terrible darkness — the body — 
his body — in the wet grass! Father! Where is my 
father.?” 

“ 'E’s a cornin’, dearie,” said Mrs. Daw, giving her 
more brandy. “Take another sup, dearie. Who is it 
as is murdered, miss ?” she asked in a scared whisper. 

“I don’t know. I could not see — the darkness — I 
fell over the body. I saw nothing. Oh! ” She started 
up with a shriek. “ Oh, if it really should be Harold ! ” 
Then she was overcome with anguish, and Tilda 
darted back to the kitchen. 

“Would you believe,” cried she to Mrs. Daw, “it’s 
the furriner! An’ master said as ’e was in ’is study 
talkin’ to ’im! ” 

“Lor’, so ’e did!” said Mrs. Daw, awestruck at 
having detected her master in a lie. “And ’e was 
out all the time! What does Mr. van Zwieten say, 
Tilda ? ” 

“ Van Zwieten! ” shrieked Brenda, who was cling- 
ing to the table. “Has he been out? Ah! he hated 
Harold — the dead man — oh!” her voice leaped an oc- 
tave, “ he has killed my Harold! ” 

“What!” shrieked the other woman in turn, and 
Mrs. Daw, throwing her apron over her head, began to 
scream with the full force of her lungs. Tilda joined 
in, losing all remnant of control, and Brenda sank in a 


The Name of the Victim. 39 

chair white-faced and silent. The conviction that 
Harold had been murdered stunned her. 

At this moment there was heard the sound of foot- 
steps coming rapidly nearer. Scarse, with an angry 
and terrified expression, appeared on the scene. Close 
behind him came Van Zwieten, who seemed, as ever, 
quite undisturbed and master of himself. Brenda 
caught sight of him, and darting forward, seized the 
man by the lapels of his coat. “ Harold! ” she cried, 
“you have killed my Harold!” 

“Harold — Burton!” replied Scarse, aghast. “Is he 
dead ? ” 

“Dead — murdered! Oh, I am certain of it. And 
you killed him. You! You!” 

Van Zwieten said not a word, but remained perfectly 
calm. He saw that the girl was beside herself with 
terror and grief, that she knew not what she was say- 
ing or doing. Without a word he picked her up in his 
strong arms and carried her moaning and weeping into 
the drawing-room. Scarse rated Mrs. Daw and Tilda 
sharply for so losing their heads, and followed the 
Dutchman. But before leaving the kitchen he was 
careful to take with him the key of the back door. 
“No one leaves this house to-night,” he said sharply; 
“ I must inquire into this. Give me that spirit-stand. 
Now go to bed, you fools.” 

“Bed!” wailed Mrs. Daw, as her master left the 
room. “Lor’, I’ll never sleep again — not for weeks 
any’ow. I daren’t lie alone. Oh, what an ’orful 
night. I’ll give notice to-morrow, that for sure! ” 

“ So’ll I,” squeaked Tilda. With this the two went 
shivering to a common couch, full of prayers and 


40 A Traitor in London. 

terror, and prepared to die — if die they must — in 
company. 

In the drawing-room Brenda was huddled up in a 
chair, terrified out of her wits. Van Zwieten, calm 
and masterful, stood before the fireplace with his big 
hands clasped loosely before him. His trousers were 
turned up, his boots were soaking, and there were 
raindrops in his curly hair. For the rest he was dry, 
and the storm had not made the slightest impress on 
his strong nerves. When Scarse entered he threw a 
steely and inquisitive glance at the old man, who 
winced and shrank back with an expression of fear on 
his face. Van Zwieten, ever on the alert for the signs 
of a guilty conscience, noted this with secret satisfac- 
tion. 

“Now then, Brenda," said her father, recovering at 
last some of his presence of mind, “what is all this 
about.? You say that Burton is dead — that Mr. van 
Zwieten killed him." 

“Ah!" interposed the Dutchman, stroking his 
beard, “I should like to know how 1 managed that." 

“You hated him!” cried Brenda, sitting up straight 
with a sudden access of vigor. “You told me so to- 
night at dinner!" 

“Pardon me; 1 said 1 did not like Captain Burton. 
But as to hating him — ” Van Zwieten shrugged his 
shoulders; “that is an extreme word to use. But 
even if 1 did hate him you can hardly deduce from 
that that 1 should kill him! " 

“He was shot, shot in the orchards, not far from 
the Manor gates. You were out " 

“That is scant evidence to justify a charge of mur- 


The Name of the Victim. 41 

der,” interposed Scarce, angrily. “ You are unstrung 
and hysterical, Brenda. How did you come to be out 
yourself in such a storm 

“ I went to see Lady Jenny at the Manor, about — 
about Harold’s money. She was not in, so I came 
back by the short cut through the orchards. A flash 
of lightning showed him to me there, standing under 
a tree. Then there was a shot and a cry, and I ran 
forward, and fell over his body.” 

“ Whose body ?” 

“I don’t know — at least, I think it was Harold’s 
body. Mr. van Zwieten hated him.” 

"‘It may not be Harold at all,” said her father, im- 
patiently ; “ you are jumping to conclusions — the wild- 
est conclusions, Brenda. Did you see his face ?” 

“ No; how could I ? It was dark.” 

“Then how on earth do you know it was Captain 
Burton?” 

“I am not sure, of course; but I think so. Oh, 

father, do you think Oh, perhaps, after all, it may 

not have been Harold.” 

Scarse shook off her clinging hands. “I think 
you’re a fool,” he said sharply, “and this wild talk 
of Burton’s being dead is pure imagination on your 
part.” 

“I hope so — oh, how I hope so!” and Brenda 
shivered. 

Van Zwieten, who had been listening with a cynical 
smile on his face, burst into a laugh, at which Brenda 
looked angrily at him. “Excuse me. Miss Scarse,” he 
said politely, “but it is my opinion no one is dead at 
all. The shot and cry were no doubt the outcome of 


42 


A Traitor in London. 


a thundercrash. You were upset by the storm, and it 
seemed to you like — what you say.” 

“But a man is dead,” protested Brenda, rising. 
“ In my anxiety for Harold I may have been mistaken 
in thinking it was he. Still, some one was shot — I fell 
over the body and fainted.” 

“The man may have fainted also,” suggested her 
father. 

“If I may make a suggestion,” said Van Zwieten, 
with strong common sense, “we are all talking with- 
out any reasonable sort of basis. Before we assume 
that a crime has been committed, I would suggest 
that we go to the orchards and see if we can find the 
body.” 

“ No, no,’’ cried Scarse, shrinking back. “ Impossi- 
ble at this hour, and on such a night.” 

“The storm is dying away,” said the Dutchman, 
derisively. “ However, if you don’t care to come, I 
can go myself.” 

“ I will go with you,” cried Brenda, springing to her 
feet. 

“For you. Miss Scarse, I think it is hardly wise. 
You are very much upset. Had you not better go to 
bed?” 

“I couldn’t sleep with this on my mind. I must 
know if it is Harold or not. If it is, I am certain you 
shot him, and until I know the truth I don’t let you 
out of my sight.” 

“Very good.” Van Zwieten bowed and smiled. 
“Come, then, and guide me.” 

“ Brenda, you can’t go out now. I forbid you— it is 
not fit or proper,” 


The Name of the Victim. 


43 

“What do I care for propriety in such a case as 
this?” cried Brenda, in a passion. “Come with me 
then, father.” 

“ No, I can’t — I am too ill.” 

Van Zwieten cast an amused look at Scarse, and the 
old man winced again. He turned away and poured 
himself out a glass of brandy. Without taking any 
further notice of him, Brenda put on her wet cloak 
and left the room, followed almost immediately by 
the Dutchman. Van Zwieten had many questions to 
ask his host, for he knew a good deal, and guessed 
more; but this was not the time for cross-examina- 
tion. It was imperative that the identity of the de- 
ceased should be ascertained, and Van Zwieten wished 
to be on the spot when the discovery was made. As 
he left the room he heard the glass in Scarse’s trem- 
bling hand clink against the decanter, and the sound 
made him smile. He guessed the cause of such per- 
turbation. 

The rain had ceased for the moment, but the wind 
was still high, and dense black clouds hurtled across 
the sky. A pale moon showed herself every now and 
then from behind the flying wrack, and fitfully lighted 
the midnight darkness. 

As she was with Van Zwieten, Brenda took a wide 
circle through the village street. There were many 
people about in spite of the bad weather — some with 
lanterns — but Brenda could not gather from the scraps 
of conversation she heard whether the report of the 
dead man lying in the orchards had got abroad. 

In silence Van Zwieten strode along beside her, 
apparently indifferent to anything. His attitude irri- 


44 


A Traitor in London. 


tated the girl, and when the wind lulled for a moment 
she demanded sharply where he had been on that 
night. 

“You will be surprised to hear, Miss Scarse, that I 
went to see Captain Burton." 

“And why.?” asked Brenda, taken aback by this 
answer — the last she had expected to hear. 

“To warn him,” replied Van Zwieten, coolly. 

“Warn him — about what — against whom ?” 

“About my engagement to you — against myself.” 

“I am not engaged to you, but to him,” said Brenda,, 
almost with a cry of despair. 

It seemed impossible to make this man understand 
how she hated him. 

“I think you are engaged to me,” said the Dutch- 
man, deliberately. “You say no, but that is girl’s 
talk. 1 am not to be beaten by a girl. I always get 
what I want, and 1 want you.” 

The wind rose again, and further conversation was 
impossible. Brenda walked on, praying for strength 
to escape this terrible man. She could not rid herself 

of the idea that the dead man was her own true 

lover. Van Zwieten might have seen him, as he said, 
might have quarreled with him and shot him. The 
fear chilled her heart, and when next the wind fell 
she again taxed Van Zwieten. “You killed him?” 
she cried. 

“You will insist on that, but you are wrong. I 

never saw Captain Burton. He was not at the inn 

when I called.” 

“He had gone to town,” said Brenda, breathless 
with joy. 


The Name of the Victim. 


45 


No, he had gone to the Rectory.” 

Brenda stopped short. Lady Jenny had gone to the 
Rectory also. Perhaps Harold had seen her, and had 
asked for her aid. While she was wondering if this 
might be so, there was a great shouting, and in the 
distance she saw the blaze of torches borne by many 
people. The wind made them flare furiously. 

“Ach!” said Van Zwieten under his breath, '‘they 
know now.” 

In the high wind Brenda did not hear him. Guess- 
ing that the concourse meant the discovery of the 
body, she flew along the road like a lapwing. The 
procession was coming toward the Manor gates from 
the direction of the orchards. Some men were shout- 
ing, some women screaming, but the solid group sur- 
rounded by the red, smoking lights remained silent. 
Van Zwieten followed noiselessly, and reached the 
group almost as soon as Brenda. 

“You see,” he breathed in the girl’s ear, “he is 
alive!” 

Brenda gave a cry of joy and flung herself into the 
arms of the foremost man. 

“Harold! Harold! Thank God you are safe! ” 

“Brenda! What are you doing here.? Go back! 
go back! ” 

“No, no. Tell me who — who is dead. Who has 
been murdered.?” 

Seeing she knew so much, Harold signed to the 
men carrying the body to stop. They set down the 
gate on which it rested. 

“Malet!” cried Brenda, as she recognized the fea- 
tures of the corpse. “ It is Mr. Malet! ” 


CHAPTER IV. 


A STRANGE PIECE OF EVIDENCE. 

Next morning there was great excitement in Chip- 
pingholt. That a murder should have taken place in 
that peaceful hamlet was bad enough, but that the 
victim should be the lord of the Manor himself was 
terrible beyond words. The body was carried up to 
the house, and the rural constable, not feeling himself 
competent to deal with so unusual an incident, sent 
for instructions to the police station at Langton. 

Toward midday an inspector and constables came 
over to investigate. The inspector proceeded at once 
to the Manor and interviewed Lady Jenny. Her 
coolness and powers of endurance in such trying 
circumstances amazed even this stolid official. 

She was a small, slightly-built woman, with a 
sylph-like figure, dark blue eyes and dark hair. Her 
rose-leaf skin was wonderfully delicate of tint and 
texture, and she looked fragile enough to be blown 
away by a breath of wind. She was said to be both 
frivolous and emotional, a shallow creature, fond of 
nothing but pleasure and spending money. In this 
emergency every one expected her to relapse into 
hysteria, and to be quite incapable of any control over 
her feelings; but, to their surprise, she was all the 
opposite of this, and shed hardly a tear. She received 
the news of the death almost apathetically, directed 
46 


47 


A Strange Piece of Evidence. 

the body to be laid out in the bed which her husband 
had occupied when alive, and herself calmed the emo- 
tions of the household. 

Indeed, Wilfred Burton was far more upset about 
the murder than was Lady Jenny. He expressed his 
amazement at her wonderful self-control. He was 
lying on the sofa in her morning-room when he spoke 
to her on the subject. 

‘‘Some one must manage things," said the brave 
little woman, “and I know well enough you’re in- 
capable, poor dear! Harold could be of use, I know, 
but I don’t want him just now. When I do. I’ll send 
for him.’’ 

“ He was here this morning, Jenny." 

“ I know he was; I saw him before you were up. 
He told me about the finding of poor Gilbert’s 
body.” 

“ Who found it ?" 

“ Branksom, the lodgekeeper. He was coming 
home from the village about ten last night, and took 
the short path through the orchards. He stumbled 
over a body in the dark, and lit a match to see who it 
was, thinking it was some drunken man. The match 
blew -out, but he recognized Gilbert, and saw the 
blood on his face, so he ran back to give the alarm. 
Harold, who was at the ‘Chequers,’ heard of the mur- 
der, and came with a man to remove the body. In 
fact, he was the first to arrive, and he examined the 
corpse before the rest came up.” 

Wilfred, a pale-faced, delicate-looking young man, 
with large, dark eyes, and a hectic flush on his face, 
shuddered at the calmness with which Lady Jenny 


48 A Traitor in London. 

went into these details. “ I don’t know how you can 
do it!” he gasped, putting his hand to his throat like 
a hysterical woman. “It is terrible. And 1 thought 
you were so fond of Gilbert.” 

“Yes, I was fond of him,” said Lady Jenny, with 
emphasis, “but 1 learned something about him lately 
which rather checked my fondness.” 

“What?” 

“Something that concerned our two selves only, 
Wilfred. Poor Gilbert! He is dead, so I suppose I 
must forgive him.” 

“I wonder who killed him?” said Wilfred. 

“1 wonder. Of course Gilbert made many ene- 
mies.” 

“ Political enemies ?” 

“Yes, and private ones also. My dear Wilfred,” 
said Lady jenny, laying her hand on the young man’s 
arm, “ 1 wish to speak well of the dead, especially as 
the dead was my husband, but Gilbert was not a good 
man.” 

Wilfred looked at her doubtfully. “You speak as 
though you knew something.” 

“So 1 do; but that something has nothing to do*^. 
with the murder. I have no more idea who killed him 
than you have.” 

This conversation was interrupted by a message 
from Inspector Woke asking to see Lady Jenny, so 
she left the room at once. Mr. Inspector, a fat, stolid 
little man, much flurried by the unusual responsibility 
resting on his shoulders, had already seen the doctor 
and those who had found the body. He set about 
opening up the matter in his own way. 


49 


A Strange Piece of Evidence. 

“I have seen the doctor, my lady,” he said, wiping 
his face and breathing hard. “He tells me the de- 
ceased must have been murdered at about half-past 
nine last night. The wound is on the right temple, 
and as the skin and hair are burned and blackened with 
gunpowder, the shot must have been fired at close 
quarters. Death must have come very speedily, my 
lady. We can find no bullet, as it passed right through 
the deceased’s head, and no weapon, although we 
have searched the orchards. All the evidence, my 
lady, must be circumstantial. We must find out who 
had a grudge against the deceased, or who had an in- 
terest in his death.” 

Lady Jenny arranged the ruffles of crape round her 
neck — she was in mourning for her father, and had 
been for some weeks — and laughed coldly. She 
thought very little of this elaborate explanation, and 
less of the man who made it. The inspector she took 
to be a man of the smallest intelligence, and one 
wedded to the red-tapeism and stereotyped routine of 
criminal procedure as conducted by the police generally. 

“Mr. Malet had many enemies,” she said quietly. 
“He was a politician, and at one time — not so long 
ago — was connected with the War Office.” 

“Can you tell me the names of any who had a 
grudge against him, my lady?” 

“No; he told me he had enemies, but gave no ex- 
planation. Nor did I seek any. But this is a circum- 
scribed neighborhood, Mr. Woke, and not over-popu- 
lated. If a stranger came down to murder my hus- 
band, we should have no difficulty in getting a de- 
scription of him.” 


A Traitor in London. 


50 

Woke pricked up his ears. “ Does your ladyship, 
then, suspect some stranger ? ” 

“It is only an idea of mine,” replied Lady Jenny, 
coldly. “I have no reasonable grounds for making a 
definite assertion. Still, my husband was popular to a 
certain extent in Chippingholt, and I know no one, I 
can think of no person — likely to desire his death.” 

“It might have been a stranger,” mused Woke. 
“ Rural murders do not use revolvers as a rule, and if 
they did it would hardly be at such close quarters as 
this. Can you inform me of the movements of this 
household last night, my lady ? ” 

“Certainly. We dined at seven as usual. The 
night was hot and airless before the storm, so my hus- 
band said he would go out for a walk. He put a light 
coat over his evening dress, and strolled through the 
park. It was after eight when he went out.” 

“ He did not say where he was going?” 

“No, merely remarked that he would like a breath 
of fresh air. That was the last I saw of him. After 
eight I received a message from Captain Burton asking 
if I could call and see him at the Rectory.” 

“ Why did he not wait on your ladyship here ?” 
Lady jenny changed color, and her hands became 
restless. “ He was not on good terms with my hus- 
band. They quarrelled over some family matter, and 
Captain Burton refused to enter this house again.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Woke, significantly. “ And where was 
Captain Burton last night ? ” 

“He stayed at the ‘Chequers,’ but, as of course 1 
could not meet him at a public-house, he asked me to 
go to the Rectory. The rector is a mutual friend.” 


51 


A Strange Piece of Evidence. 

“ Did you go ? ” 

“I left shortly before nine o’clock with Mr. Wilfred 
Burton.” 

“ Who is he, my lady ? ” 

“ My husband’s cousin — Captain Burton’s brother. 
He is staying at the Manor, and has been here for the 
last month.” 

“Oh!” grunted Woke again — it seemed to be his 
method of expressing satisfaction — “ then Mr. Wilfred 
Burton was not on bad terms with the deceased 

“No. They were excellent friends. Mr. Burton is 
rather nervous and delicate, and my husband was 
careful of his health. 1 asked Mr. Burton to go with 
me to the Rectory, and he agreed. We left this house 
shortly before nine o’clock. On the way Mr. Burton 
stumbled and twisted his ankle, so he returned to the 
house, and I went on alone. Before I got to the 
Rectory the storm burst, and it was so violent that 1 
grew afraid. I was taking a path through the woods, 
and got under a tree for shelter. As I was nearer the 
Manor than the Rectory 1 determined to return, and 
explain to Captain Burton in the morning. It was ten 
o’clock when 1 got back, soaking and tired out. 1 was 
waiting a long time under the trees for the rain to go 
off, and so it was late when 1 returned. Then I went 
to bed, but was awakened about midnight by the news 
of my husband’s murder.” 

“And Mr. Burton ? ” 

“He did not get back until ten either— in fact, we 
arrived almost at the same time, for his foot became so 
painful that he could walk only with great difficulty. 
He also was caught in the storm.” 


52 


A Traitor in London. 


“ Oh ! ” said the inspector again, “ I should like to see 
Mr. Burton.” 

“ Certainly.” Lady Jenny rose. “ Is there anything 
else you would like to ask me ? ” 

“Not at present, my lady. I will examine your 
household first.” 

As Wilfred’s foot was sprained, the inspector was 
shown into the morning-room. It was a case of the 
mountain coming to Mahomet — Mr. Woke being a 
veritable mountain of official dignity. 

He looked curiously at the pale young man lying on 
the sofa, and seeing he was in pain, examined him as 
gingerly as possible. Wilfred was quite ready to give 
an account of his movements, although he expressed 
some surprise that such information should be re- 
quired. 

“Surely you don’t suspect me of complicity in this 
dastardly crime, Mr. Inspector ? ” 

“Dear me, no, certainly not,” replied the Jovial 
Woke, rubbing his hands, “but I am examining the 
whole household. It is wonderful what evidence may 
be gathered by such means. Indeed, I have got some 
evidence already. It may bear on the case, or it may 
not.” 

“What is it ? ” asked Wilfred, listlessly, and winced 
as his foot gave a twinge. 

“I’ll tell you later, sir. First relate your movements, 
please, last night.” 

Young Burton gave an account coinciding with that 
of Lady Jenny. “My foot must have got twisted,” 
he said, “ for it grew very painful, and the ankle is a 
good deal swollen. Otherwise I should not have let 


A Strange Piece of Evidence. 53 

Lady Jenny go on alone; but she was anxious to see 
my brother and insisted on going. It was a few min- 
utes past nine when she left me. I tried to walk, but 
could not. Then the rain came on, and I dragged my- 
self under a tree. I got soaked through, and thinking 
I should probably catch a severe chill — I am not strong, 
Mr. Woke— I set my teeth to it and hobbled home. I 
found a stake, which I used as a crutch; but the pain 
was so great that I could only walk very slowly. No 
one was about who could help me — it was so late. 1 
got home after ten, and the butler helped me in. 
Then I went to bed, and put cold water bandages on 
my foot. It is easier now.” 

You should get the doctor to see it, Mr. Burton.” 

*‘The doctor has been too busy examining poor 
Malet's body,” said Wilfred. “1 shall see him soon.” 

“ Have you any idea who murdered Mr. Malet, 
sir?” 

''Great heavens, no! The whole case is a mystery 
to me.” 

"Mr. Malet had many enemies 1 believe.” 

"He said he had, but I think he spoke generally 
rather than of any particular person or persons. So 
far as I know he had no enemy who specially desired 
his death.” 

The inspector looked grave and a trifle ill at ease. 
" Mr. Burton,” he said at length, " are you aware that 
your brother was on bad terms with Mr. Malet?” 

"They were not friendly,” admitted Wilfred, look- 
ing anxious. "There was a disagreement about my 
brother’s marriage. But, come now, my brother hasn’t 
anything to do with the affair?” 


54 


A Traitor in London. 


‘‘Well,” said Woke, pinching his chubby chin, “it’s 
just this way, sir. I have been making inquiries, and 
I find that your brother and the deceased had a violent 
quarrel yesterday afternoon in this house.” 

“I know that, but a quarrel does not mean murder. 
Confound it, sir, I won’t listen to your insinuations.” 

Mr. Woke went on coolly and deliberately. “1 
questioned Roberts, the butler,” he said, “and the 
man admitted that Captain Burton had used threaten- 
ing language.” 

“ How did Roberts know ? ” 

“He overheard Captain Burton at the open door of 
the library. He spoke loud enough for the whole 
house to hear, so Roberts says, but there happened to 
be nobody else about.” 

“Go on,” cried Wilfred, flushed and impatient. “ Let 
me hear what my brother said.” 

“ He called Mr. Malet a swindler, and said he would 
make it hot for him.” 

Wilfred smiled derisively. “Really! And on such 
words, used in a moment of anger, you would accuse 
my brother of a brutal crime ?” 

“I don’t accuse him, sir,” retorted Woke, hotly; 
“but I should like an explanation of his words.” 

“ I dare say he will furnish you with one.” Wilfred 
forgot his sprained ankle now, and sat up filled with 
indignation. “And let me tell you, Mr. Woke,” he 
went on, “the explanation will be such as to clear my 
brother wholly from all suspicion. He is the best fel- 
low in the world, and I would as soon believe myself 
guilty of this thing as him. Suspect whom you please, 
but not my brother.” 


55 


A Strange Piece of Evidence. 

But the phlegmatic officer was quite unmoved by this 
outburst. “Natural enough," he said. “Oh, I don’t 
)lame you for standing up for the captain, sir; and 1 
dare say, for that matter, he may be able to furnish an 
alihi, as he was at the Rectory waiting for her lady- 
ship. All the same, I am bound to inquire further into 
this quarrel. 1 don’t accuse him, mind" — Mr. Woke 
shook his forefinger — “but I can’t help having my 
suspicions.” He paused, and asked suddenly, “Who 
is Miss Scarse, sir ? " 

“The daughter of Mr. Scarse, M. P., and the lady 
to whom my brother is engaged to be married. Mr. 
Malet disapproved of the marriage. That was the rea- 
son he and Captain Burton quarrelled." 

“Scarse — Scarse,” repeated the inspector, rising. 
“ I’ve heard of him. He’s the gentleman that’s always 
writing and talking tall about the Boers, isn’t he ? " 

“I believe he is what is called a Little Englander." 

“An unpopular part at present, Mr. Burton. I am 
an Imperialist myself. H’m ! so Miss Scarse is engaged 
to Captain Burton, is she ? She called here at nine last 
night and asked for Lady Jenny, Roberts tells me." 

“Perhaps you’ll accuse her of the murder next!" 
said Wilfred, contemptuously. 

“I accuse no one as yet, sir. But I must have my 
facts quite clear, and I go to get them. Good-day, 
sir," and Mr. Woke departed to call in at “The 
Chequers," with Captain Burton still the central figure 
in his mind. 

But Harold was not at the inn. Late in the morn- 
ing he had called at the cottage to see Brenda, and 
discuss with her the very stirring events of the pre- 


A Traitor in London. 


56 

vious night. She received him in the drawing-room, 
and, thankful to find that he was alive and well, em- 
braced him more than ever affectionately. The poor 
girl looked ill and pale, for all this trouble had shaken 
her nerves more than she cared to confess. And in 
truth Harold himself did not feel much better, although 
he showed it less markedly. Mr. Scarse being shut 
up as usual in his study, they had the room to them- 
selves. Van Zwieten had gone out. 

“I had no chance, dear, of speaking to you last 
night," said Harold. Tell me how you came to hear 
about this murder.^" 

“ Harold, dear, I saw it committed! " 

The man turned pale. “You saw it committed?" 
he repeated. “Why, Brenda, who did it?" 

“1 don’t know. I had gone to the Manor to see 
Lady Jenny. 1 thought she might be able to help 
you about this money; and on my way home 1 was 
caught in the storm. In a vivid flash of lightning 
I saw Mr. Malet sheltering under a tree. I did not 
know then that it was Mr. Malet. After that I heard 
a cry, and then a shot. I ran forward, and stumbled 
over the body. Then I fainted, 1 think, but as soon as 
1 was able I made my way home. It was only when 
1 met you that 1 knew that Mr. Malet was the victim. 
Oh, Harold, dearest, I thought all the time it was you!" 

“What on earth put such an idea as that into your 
head?" he asked in amazement. 

“I don’t know. Van Zwieten had told me he hated 
you, and 1 am afraid of Van Zwieten. He told me he 
went to see you at the inn, and 1 thought you might 
have quarrelled, and " She threw out her hands. 


57 


A Strange Piece of Evidence. 

“Oh, dearest, it is only because you are so much to 
me, I suppose, that I thought it must be you. Oh, 
Harold, the thought nearly drove me mad." 

“ But why did Van Zwieten want to see me ?" 

“ To insist that you should give me up." 

“Give you up ? Confound his Dutch impertinence ! " 
said Harold, angrily. 

“Dearest, I am afraid of that man," said Brenda, 
clinging to him. “Yes, terribly afraid. He will not 
leave me alone. He speaks as though he were per- 
fectly certain 1 should have to marry him." 

“ In that case, the most effectual method of putting 
an end to his presumption will be for you to marry 
me, dear, and that at once. Remember the twenty 
thousand pounds comes to me now!" 

“ Harold 1 — the money is yours ? But how ? " 

“Malet’s control of the fund died with him. Now 
that he is dead, nothing can prevent my getting it. 
We can be married straight away, dear." 

“We should have done that in any case, Harold. 

But now Oh, do let us go to London at once; 

for, until we are really married, I shall not be able to 
shake off my fear of this man. I know I sha’n’t." 

“Nonsense, Brenda! He can be nothing to you. 
Why, you told me you detested the man." 

“So I do. I loathe him. But he is so determined 
and wicked, and so unscrupulous, that somehow I fear 
him, I " 

“ Is he here now ?" 

“Yes; but I believe he goes this afternoon. He 
may meet us in London, Harold, and give us trouble 
there. Believe me, he is dangerous." 


A Traitor in London. 


58 

“Give me the legal right to protect you, Brenda,” 
said Harold, “and you need not fear Van Zwieten. 
He is a brute. 1 don’t know how your father can tol- 
erate him.” 

“ Simply because Mr. van Zwieten is going out to 
the Transvaal Government, and father has taken up 
the Boer cause.” 

“If Kruger goes on as he is doing, there won’t be 
any Transvaal Government at all in a few months. 
Don’t you bother about Van Zwieten, dear. As soon 
as poor Malet is buried 1 shall go up to London and see 
about the money.” 

“There will be an inquest, I suppose.” 

“Of course. The police are at the Manor now. I 
went over to offer my services to Jenny, but she did 
not want me, and sent out to say so. Poor little 
woman! I don’t see how she’s going to manage mat- 
ters. I hope she’ll have enough to live on.” 

“ Why! I thought Mr. Malet was rich! ” 

“ He was. But he spent money freely, and gambled 
a good deal.” Harold looked uneasy. “1 tell you 
what, Brenda, I sha’n’t be easy in my mind until I 
know that my money and Wilfred’s is safe. Malet 
had supreme control over it, and for all 1 know he may 
have made ducks and drakes with it.” 

“Well, if he has, we’ll have to do without it, that’s 
all,” replied the girl. “ By the way, dear, why didn’t 
you go to town last night as we arranged ? ” 

“I changed my mind. It struck me that Jenny 
might manage to succeed with Malet where I had 
failed. I didn’t go up to the house, because 1 didn’t 
want to meet him; so I sent her a note asking her to 


A Strange Piece of Evidence. 59 

come to the Rectory. You know Mr. Slocum is one 
of my oldest friends.” 

“ How strange,” said Brenda, wonderingly. “ I had 
exactly the same idea; that was why 1 went to the 
Manor last night. When 1 got there they told me Lady 
Jenny had gone to the Rectory.” 

“1 didn't see her,” said Harold, grimly. “1 waited 
till nine, and as she hadn’t turned up then I went back 
to the inn. There, later on, 1 heard of the murder, and 
went to look at the body. Although we had quarrelled 
I felt sorry for the poor devil when 1 heard of his vio- 
lent death.” 

“ Poor Mr. Malet,” sighed Brenda; “ I wonder who 
killed him, and why ?” 

“Well, 1 can’t say why, dear, but I have an idea 
who it was that shot him.” 

“Who? Who?” 

“ That man I mistook for your father.” 

Brenda turned pale, remembering her father’s agita- 
tion. 

“Impossible! Why do you think so ?” 

“ 1 examined the body first, before the others came 
up. I found the right hand was clenched, and by the 
light of the lantern I opened it. It was grasping a 
scrap of crape! ” 

“A scrap of crape! But what has ” Brenda’s 

voice died in her throat. 

“Don’t you remember my description? That old 
man wore a crape scarf! ” 


CHAPTER V. 


VAN ZWIETEN SHOWS HIS TEETH. 

This unexpected piece of evidence caused Brenda no 
little uneasiness. She reflected that the man with the 
crape scarf had so closely resembled her father as to be 
mistaken for him, and then she remembered how her 
father had refused to give any information concerning 
this double of his. There was also the fact of his 
avowed hatred of Malet. Do what she would, she 
could not rid herself of the idea that through this third 
person, so like himself, her father was in some way 
connected with the murder. And little as she loved 
him, the thought of it shocked and terrified her. She 
told Harold what had passed between them in the 
study, and unbosomed herself of her suspicions to 
him. In reply he asked her a few straightforward 
questions. 

“Did your father refuse to speak of this man, 
Brenda ?” 

“Absolutely. He sent me out of the room." 

“ He was uneasy ? " 

“More than uneasy," said the girl, with emphasis; 
“ he was terrified. There is great mystery in all this, 
Harold. In some way my father is connected with 
this man. For all 1 know, he may be a relative. 1 am 
very ignorant of my family history." 

“ H’m ! Have you seen your father this morning ? " 
60 


Van Zwieten Shows His Teeth. 6i 

“No. He did not come to breakfast, and I did not 
go to his study, knowing that he dislikes to be dis- 
turbed.” 

“ Well, we must go to his study now,” said Harold, 
rising, “for 1 am sure that the man with the crape 
scarf killed Malet, and your father may be able to 
throw some light on the subject.” 

“Harold, you don’t think my father ” 

“Who can tell.? Brenda, we must face the facts, 
and see him. In any case I am the only person who 
knows about this scrap of crape, and 1 shall keep the 
information to myself. Now, come along, dear, and 
let’s hunt him up.” 

When they reached the study they found it empty. 
On the table lay a note for Brenda in her father’s hand- 
writing. It informed her very curtly that he had gone 
up to London for the day and would return that same 
evening. Harold looked grave, and Brenda was per- 
plexed. It was so unexpected. Mr. Scarse seemed to 
be doing all he could to heap suspicion on his own head. 

“Does he usually go off in this sudden fashion .?” 
asked Captain Burton. 

“Yes and no. Sometimes he tells me, sometimes 
he leaves a note. After all, Harold, we may be alto- 
gether mistaken. Perhaps father knows nothing at all 
about it.” 

“1 hope so, Brenda. But from what you say he 
certainly knows this man, and it is strange there 
should be such a striking resemblance between them. 
The scrap of crape might easily have been torn off the 
scarf in the struggle.” 

“But there was no struggle,” said Brenda, eagerly. 


62 


A Traitor in London. 


“ I saw Mr. Malet for one moment when the lightning 
flashed; the next I heard a cry, and it was followed at 
once by a shot. There was no time for a struggle.” 

“You heard the cry first, and then the shot ? ” 

“Yes. The shot must have killed the poor man at 
once. He did not cry again.” 

Harold reflected. “ 1 saw Dr. Lincoln this morning 
at the Manor,” he said slowly. “ He deduces from the 
blackened skin and singed hair that the shot must have 
been fired at close quarters. Now, if the murderer 
saw Malet by that lightning flash, and was close at 
hand, he no doubt sprang forward and clutched the 
poor devil’s arm while he placed the muzzle of the 
weapon at his temple. In that case Malet would utter 
a cry and the next moment drop dead. In his agony 
he might have gripped at the crape scarf, and have 
torn off the piece I found clenched in his hand.” 

“That is all purely hypothetical,” said Brenda, 
fighting against her doubts. 

“1 know it is. But it seems to me the only way 
to account for your hearing the cry first, and for this 
piece of crape being in the hand of the corpse. De- 
pend upon it, Brenda, your father can throw some 
light on the subject. Well, as he’s gone to town, 
there’s nothing for it but to wait till he comes back. 
Meanwhile 1 won’t say anything about the piece of 
crape to any one.” 

“ And what are you going to do now ?” she asked, 
as he moved toward the study door. 

“Return to the inn. 1 should like to know if any 
one else saw this stranger, and if they mistook him, as 
I did, for your father.” 


Van Zwieten Shows His Teeth. 63 

Harold, Harold, do be careful,” implored Brenda; 

we may be misjudging father altogether, dear. 
Don’t, 1 beg of you, get him into any trouble.” 

“On the contrary, dear, my object is to get him 
out of trouble. If 1 don’t succeed in arriving at 
some explanation of this queer confusion of identities 
the police may take it up. Then it would be dan- 
gerous. Good-bye, dear; I shall be back shortly.” 

Brenda waved her hand as he left her, and returned 
to the study. She was filled with ominous fore- 
boding, and trembled at the thought of possible com- 
plicity on the part of her father. His pronounced 
hatred of Malet, his agitation at the mention of the 
stranger, the odd idea of the crape scarf worn by the 
supposed criminal, and the morsel of it in the dead 
man’s hand — these things collectively formed a mys- 
tery which Brenda could not fathom. 

She looked again at the note which intimated that 
her father had gone to town, and from the straggling, 
scratching character of the handwriting she gathered 
that he must have been greatly agitated when he 
wrote it. Afterward she went to the kitchen, and 
skillfully questioned Mrs. Daw and Tilda about their 
master’s departure. Both declared that he had said 
nothing to them about it. It seemed likely, then, that 
he had made up his mind on a sudden impulse and 
gone off in a hurry. 

Brenda wondered vainly what it could all mean, and 
then rebuked herself severely for her suspicions. 
After all, her father would no doubt be able to give 
good reason for his hurried departure when he re- 
turned ; the surrounding circumstances, strange as 


64 A Traitor in London. 

they were, might prove to be all that was natural 
and obvious in the light of what he would have to 
say. 

The dawn had brought wisdom to Mrs. Daw and 
the housemaid too, for they no longer spoke of giving 
notice. They were chattering like parrots about the 
murder, many exaggerated and wholly imaginary 
details of which had been supplied by butcher, baker 
and milkman. But Brenda learned that as yet no 
one was definitely suspected of the crime, and that 
the villagers were hopelessly bewildered at its com- 
mittal. 

About the stranger no word was said; and some- 
what relieved in her mind, Brenda gave her orders 
for the day, and returned to the study. She sat down 
before the fire — which was lighted, as usual, in spite 
of the summer warmth — and gave herself up to 
thoughts of Harold. These were pleasant enough, 
but occasionally there would come the recollection of 
Van Zwieten and his calm insistence that she should 
be his wife. Then she shuddered, for the man fasci- 
nated her as a serpent fascinates a bird. There were 
moments when it came upon her that he might get his 
way in spite of her repulsion. 

Idly looking into the fire, she noticed a fine white 
ash under the grate, disposed in a regular line. At 
first she took no heed of it, but presently she became 
aware that this was no coal debris, and her eye 
travelled along the line until she found an unburnt 
piece of the material, the remainder of which was 
ash. Growing pale, she bent down and picked up a 
tiny piece of crape. Undoubtedly it was crape — there 


Van Zwieten Shows His Teeth. 65 

was enough saved from the burning to swear by. 
Brenda turned faint; from the long narrow outline 
of the white ash, from the scrap of material she held 
in her hand, it was certain that her father had flung 
a crape scarf under the grate, and had set fire to it. 
And she guessed that the scarf was the one worn by 
the stranger — the scarf from which the morsel in 
Harold’s possession had been torn. Motionless and 
terrified, she pondered over the meaning of this de- 
struction. 

Before she could come to any conclusion, there was 
a shadow thrown across the floor, and Brenda, her 
nerves shaken, jumped up with a slight scream to see 
Van Zwieten step into the room through the French 
window. He looked unusually well pleased with 
himself, and smiled blandly when he saw her. In 
fact, she detected an exulting expression in his blue 
eyes, which vaguely terrified her. With the instinct 
to conceal the discovery of the burnt scarf, she thrust 
the scrap into her pocket, and turned to welcome Van 
Zwieten with a smile. 

He looked at the fire, at her action, and seemed to 
connect the two. But he said nothing. No doubt 
he thought she had been about to burn something, and 
that he had interrupted her. 

“Aha, Miss Scarse,” he said politely, “I have been 
walking in the orchards to have a look at the spot 
where I murdered that man.” 

Brenda was annoyed at his satire, and rather foolishly 
showed her annoyance. 

“ You should make allowance for my state of mind 
last night,” she said irritably. “I spoke without 


66 


A Traitor in London. 


thinking. Besides, I accused you of killing Harold, 
not poor Mr. Malet.” 

“ Quite so. But you might as well say 1 killed the 
one as the other. Pardon me, 1 will say no more. 1 
have been to the place where the poor man was mur- 
dered, and 1 have made discoveries. Ah, you English, 
you have no eyes! Dozens of people have been 
round this morning, but they have seen nothing. 1 
have seen much.” 

“What have you seen — what have you dis- 
covered ? ” asked Brenda, anxiously. 

Van Zwieten clicked his heels together in foreign 
fashion, and bowed. “Miss Scarse, I am a wise 
man,” he said, smiling; “wise men never talk. But 
if you will be wise also, and give me the right to tell 
you what I know, why then ” 

“ How can I give you the right ? ” 

“ By accepting me as your future husband.” 

“No, a thousand times, no. I am engaged to 
Captain Burton.” 

“Ah, Captain Burton! I quite forgot that young 
gentleman. I have something to say to him. He is, 
no doubt, still at his hotel. I will call.” 

“If your object is to make him give me up, you 
may save yourself the trouble of calling,” said Brenda, 
quietly. “ We are engaged, and nothing you can say 
or do can break our engagement.” 

“Ah! 1 think otherwise.” 

“Mr. van Zwieten, will you understand once and 
for all that 1 refuse to have anything to do with you. 
I refuse to marry you.” 

Van Zwieten shook his head. “ 1 cannot accept 


Van Zwieten Shows His Teeth. 67 

your refusal. I have made up my mind that you shall 
marry me, and marry me you must. I have a strong 
will, Miss Scarse.'’ 

“ 1 also, and so has Captain Burton. You can’t bully 
me into being your slave.” 

“ Pardon me, 1 should be the slave,” said the Dutch- 
man, blandly. “As for Captain Burton, poof! I will 
sweep him from my path. When he is in South 
Africa, 1 shall be there also.” 

“ He is not going to South Africa.” 

“Oh, yes, I think so. He is a soldier, and your 
soldiers will have much to do in South Africa shortly.” 

“ Mr. van Zwieten, 1 believe you are a Boer spy.” 

“ Indeed! Why do you believe so ?” 

“ You seem to be so certain of the war. You are 
going out to the Transvaal ” 

“I am. You too. Miss Scarse — as my wife. Ah, 
do not look angry. You must accept the inevitable 
with a good grace. As to my being a spy, there is no 
need for me to act so low a part as that. I think there 
will be war because I read the sign of the times. 
Europe is with us ” 

“ Did your friend Dr. Leyds tell you so ? ” she asked 
scornfully, 

“ Perhaps. But this is idle talk. I am not what you 
think me. When the time comes you will know — 
what I intend you to know. So sure am I that you 
will be my wife, that I am content to return to Lon- 
don this day and leave you with Captain Burton.” 

“The sooner you go the better pleased I shall be.” 

“ Ach ! What English hospitality ! How charmingly 
said! ” 


68 


A Traitor in London. 


Brenda turned on him with tears of rage in her 
eyes. “You force me to be rude,” she said, almost 
breaking down in the face of this persistence. “I 
have never been spoken to as you speak to me. An 
English gentleman can take ‘no’ for an answer.” 

“But I love you too much to accept such an an- 
swer.” 

“ If you loved me, you would not worry me so. 
Please go, Mr. van Zwieten. Oh! I wish my father 
were here to protect me! ” cried poor Brenda, keeping 
back her tears with difficulty. 

“Call him, Miss Scarse. He has not gone out to- 
day, has he ? ” 

“ He has gone to London.” 

Clever and self-possessed as Van Zwieten was, 4his 
intelligence disconcerted him. He started and frowned. 
“ To London! ” he repeated. “ He was here a couple 
of hours ago.” 

Brenda handed him the note left by her father, and 
turned away. “You can see for yourself. I suppose 
you will go after luncheon.” 

Van Zwieten read the note and frowned again. 
“Yes, 1 will go after luncheon,” he said. “In the 
meantime I will see Captain Burton, I think; oh, yes, 
I think I shall come to terms with that young gentle- 
man. Till luncheon. Miss Scarse,” and, bowing with 
a mocking smile, he stepped out of the window, leav- 
ing Brenda puzzled and uneasy. 

Meanwhile, Harold was talking with Inspector Woke 
at the inn. He had found that official waiting for him 
on his return from the cottage, and had at once con- 
sented to his request for a private conversation. He 


Van Zwieten Shows His Teeth. 69 

had no idea that Woke suspected him in any way, and 
answered his questions with the utmost frankness. 

“I went to the Rectory last night to see Mr. Slocum, 
who is an old friend of mine,” he said, and left here 
about eight o’clock. It was shortly after nine when 1 
returned.” 

At what time did you arrive here ?” asked Woke, 
watching his companion’s face. 

About ten o’clock.” 

“ Oh! and you left the Rectory at nine. Did it take 
you an hour to walk a quarter of a mile 

Captain Burton stared, and his dark face flushed. 
“1 don’t know why you wish me to answer you so 
precisely,” he said haughtily; “but it so happened that 
1 was caught in the storm, and stood under a tree for 
some time.” 

“The storm again,” murmured Woke, rubbing his 
chin. “ Lady Jenny Malet and your brother were both 
caught in the storm.” 

“ 1 know that,” retorted Burton, impatiently. “ Lady 
jenny was coming to the Rectory to see me on busi- 
ness. This morning 1 learned that she was caught in 
the storm and turned back. My brother sprained his 
foot. 1 know* all this. Well ? ” 

“Mr. Malet was murdered at half-past nine.” 

“ So the doctor told me. Well ? ” 

Harold was so unsuspicious that the inspector felt 
uncomfortable, and did not know very well how to 
put his doubts into words. “ Did you see Mr. Malet 
last night ? ” he asked. 

“No, 1 did not.” 

“ Oh ! If you had, would you have spoken to him ?” 


70 


A Traitor in London. 


“What the devil do you mean.?” asked Captain 
Burton, sharply. 

“Only this. That I have been informed at the 
Manor — by Roberts the butler, if you want to know — 
that you and Mr. Malet had a quarrel yesterday.” 

“We had, over family business. That has nothing 
to do with you.” 

“I’m not so sure about that,” said Woke, drily. 
“You used threats. You said you would make it hot 
for him.” 

Captain Burton jumped up with clenched fists. 
“Are you trying to make out that I murdered Malet ?” 
he asked savagely. “If so, put your meaning more 
clearly, and I shall know how to defend myself.” 

“ 1 don’t say you murdered him,” protested Woke, 
soothingly; “but you quarrelled with him, you threat- 
ened him, and you were out of doors between nine 
and ten, during which time he was killed. The posi- 
tion is suspicious — don’t be angry. Captain Burton, I 
am only doing my duty. Of course you can prove an 
alibi."' 

“1 can give you my word that I did not see Malet 
last night. 1 saw his body after 1 had been informed 
of his murder. As to an alihiy no one saw me after I 
left the Rectory, so far as 1 know. I stood under a 
tree for a time; then 1 walked round by Mr. Scarse’s 
cottage.” 

“ Had you any particular reason to do so ? ” 

Captain Burton flushed and bit his lip. “ I could 
refuse to answer that question, ” he said at length ; ‘ ‘ but 
as you suspect me I will be as candid as possible. I 
am engaged to Miss Scarse, and 1 went round with the 


Van Zwieten Shows His Teeth. 71 

intention of seeing her on the same matter about 
which I went to the Rectory. However, I concluded 
it was too late, so I returned here.” 

“You answer frankly. Captain Burton,” said Woke 
rather disconsolately, “and I say again, I don’t accuse 
you of the crime.” 

Harold bowed ironically. “ Have you any idea who 
committed it ? ” 

“ No,” replied Burton, keeping his own counsel, “ I 
have not.” 

Woke rose to go. Then he looked at Harold and 
hesitated. Finally he spoke in a confidential tone. 
“ Do you know if Mr. Scarse is mad ? ” was his 
strange question. 

Burton suppressed a smile. “ Not that I know of,” 
he replied wonderingly. “ Why ? ” 

“ Because he was seen in the village yesterday after- 
noon with a yard or two of crape around his neck — 
crape. Captain Burton — a strange material for a 
scarf! ” 

“ Very strange,” replied Burton, keeping strict guard 
on his tongue. He saw that other people besides him- 
self had mistaken the stranger for Scarse; but he did 
not correct the inspector lest he might say too much. 
For Brenda’s sake it would not do for that subject to 
be gone into too minutely. “ You had better see Mr. 
Scarse yourself about the matter,” said he at length; 
“he has gone up to town, but may return this 
evening.” 

Woke nodded and withdrew. He had not gained 
much by his conversation. Harold was evidently 
guiltless; or, at all events, there seemed to be no evi- 


72 A Traitor in London. 

dence to connect him with the crime. The poor in- 
spector, accustomed to open murders of the poker or 
hatchet order, was wholly at a loss how to deal with 
the intricate criminal problem presented to him. He 
could not find the Weapon with which the crime had 
been committed; he could gain no tangible intelligence 
likely to fasten the crime on to any one person. At 
last, utterly perplexed, he took himself off. 

Harold watched him go with some sense of relief. 
He saw that the case, handled by a man of such in- 
experience and meagre intelligence, would come to 
nothing, and for Brenda's sake he was glad. He could 
not help thinking that Scarse was in some way con- 
nected with the matter. Much would depend upon 
the explanation he had to give regarding his “double.” 
Until that mystery was solved, nothing could be done. 

He was still pondering over the pros and cons of it 
all when he was interrupted by the waiter with the in- 
telligence that Mr. van Zwieten wished to see him. 
Wondering what his rival could have to say to him, 
he directed that he should be shown in. When Van 
Zwieten appeared, Harold received him coldly. He 
did not offer to shake hands. 

“ You wish to see me ? ” was all he said. 

“ Ach, yes!” replied Van Zwieten, with a beaming 
smile. “ You will let me sit down.” He threw him- 
self lightly on the sofa. “Thank you. Yes, Captain 
Burton, 1 have come to see you about a lady.” 

“ 1 know whom you mean,” said Harold, his voice 
tremulous with rage, “ and 1 must ask you to leave 
that lady’s name unspoken. I refuse to discuss the 
rnatter you have come about.” 


Van Zwieten Shows His Teeth. 73 

“It will be better for you to agree,” said Van 
Zwieten, with a steely gleam of his blue eyes. “I 
come to see you about more than Miss Scarse.” 

Harold sat down suddenly. It flashed across him 
that the Dutchman knew something connected with 
the crime, so significantly did he speak. Resolved to 
know the worst, he decided to let him have his say, 
although he winced at the idea of Brenda’s name on 
the lips of the man. However, there was no help for 
it. The position was dangerous, and this was not the 
time for squeamishness. 

“Say what you have to say and go then,” he said, 
holding himself in hand. 

“ I can say that in a few words,” said Van Zwieten; 
“you are engaged to be married to Miss Scarse.” 

“Yes,” assented Burton, breathing quickly. 

“Know then that I love her. Captain Burton, and I 
wish to marry her.” 

“Miss Scarse has consented to marry me. You 
have — oh, damn you, get out, or I’ll kick you! How 
dare you talk about Miss Scarse — about my private 
affairs?” 

The young man was on his feet, furious with rage. 
It wanted little to make him hurl himself on Van 
Zwieten; but the Dutchman never flinched, never 
ceased to smile. “You must give up Miss Scarse to 
me! ” 

“ I’ll see you at the devil first,” was the fierce reply. 

“ In that case I must talk of your private affairs.” 

“You have done so — you are doing so.” 

“ Not yet. But now — Captain Burton, I hold you in 
the hollow of my hand.” 


74 


A Traitor in London. 


“ What do you mean asked the startled Harold. 
Van Zweiten bent forward and spoke low for a few 
moments. When he had finished, Captain Burton’s 
face was grey and drawn and terror-stricken. 

The Dutchman continued to smile. 


CHAPTER VI. 


WHAT MR. SCARSE ADMITTED. 

For the next week Brenda lived in a state of bewil- 
derment. Everything seemed to go wrong. Her 
father did not return, but wrote that his things were 
to be sent on to London, and that Brenda herself was 
to leave the cottage in charge of Mrs. Daw, and come 
up in a fortnight’s time. Van Zwieten bowed himself 
out of Chippingholt without having told her of his in- 
terview with Harold. With his usual cunning, he had 
left Harold himself to do that; but Harold, leaving a 
message for Brenda that he was suddenly recalled to 
his regimental duties, had himself left by a later train, 
without either explanation or word of farewell. 

Brenda was hopelessly at a loss to understand her 
lover’s action, and in her despair sought Lady Jenny. 

It was a week after the inquest, and the two women 
were seated in Lady Jenny’s boudoir, a pleasant rose- 
hued room which looked out on to a Dutch garden. 
The usual verdict of willful murder against some person 
or persons unknown had been brought in by the usual 
opaque country jury, directed by a not over-intelligent 
coroner. Gilbert Malet’s body had been laid away in 
the family vault, and Lady Jenny was utilizing for her 
husband the mourning she had worn for her father. 

Brenda was paying her now a visit of condolence; 
but Lady Jenny showed clearly by her manner and curt 
75 


76 A Traitor in London. 

speech that she stood in no need of sympathy. It was 
amazing to see the change that had taken place in her 
since her husband’s death. Formerly she had been a 
gay, frivolous little woman, with ever a smile on her 
face; now Brenda found her a small image of stone, 
as hard, and every whit as cold. She could scarcely 
believe it was the same woman. 

Finding that her sympathetic references to the dead 
man were received with coldness, Brenda tactfully 
changed the conversation. She mentioned her own 
anxiety about Harold’s abrupt departure, and found 
Lady Jenny quite ready to talk on that subject. She 
loved Brenda and admired Harold, and wished to see 
them married. Consequently she was only too glad to 
smooth down Brenda’s feathers, which were a good 
deal ruffled by her lover’s strange behavior. 

“My dear, you know a soldier’s time is not his 
own,” she said. “I expect Harold got a telegram, 
and had just time to pack and catch the first train.” 

“He should have sent for me,” said Brenda; “I 
should have seen him off at the station.” 

“Well, I’ve no doubt he will explain his reasons 
when you meet in town. You go there next week, 
and Harold is only at Aldershot. He has written to 
you ?” 

“Several times, and always fondly. But he has 
never explained his leaving without seeing me. It's 
no good. Lady Jenny; I confess 1 am angry. Yet he 
may have avoided seeing me on account of the 
murder.” 

Lady Jenny looked up sharply. “ Why should he ? ” 

Brenda hesitated. She was thinking of Harold’s 


What Mr. Scarse Admitted. 


77 

suspicions regarding her father, and did not want to 
tell them to the dead man’s widow. For the moment 
she had forgotten to whom she was speaking. But, 
having committed herself so far, she was obliged to 
get out of the difficulty as best she could. 

“You know Inspector Woke suspected Harold.?^” 
she said, nervously avoiding Lady jenny’s sharp black 
eyes; “he said ” 

“I know — I know. Woke told me of his suspi- 
cions. He’s a fool — to suspect Harold of killing Gilbert 
just because they had a few words is ridiculous, and I 
told him so. Nobody will ever know who killed 
Gilbert.” 

“You speak very confidently,” said Brenda, amazed 
at her hard tone. 

“Because I feel confident,” retorted the other. 
“There is not a scrap of evidence against any one. 
All that could be said was said at the inquest. Woke 
and his police have been doing their best to get at the 
truth, and have failed. The revolver was not found; 
no one knew why Gilbert went out walking on that 
night, or whom he met, and — oh, the whole thing is 
over and done with. It is only one more of the many 
undiscovered crimes.” 

“ Do you suspect any one ” 

“Not a soul. Why should 1? Gilbert had many 
enemies — so he said — but 1 don’t know any of them, 
and I don’t suppose any one of them would have gone 
the length of murder.” 

“The police here are such sillies,” put in Brenda. 
“Why don’t you get a clever detective down from 
London 


78 


A Traitor in London. 


“Because I think the case is hopeless, my dear," 
said the widow, gloomily, “and because it would cost 
a great deal too much money. 1 have not yet gone 
into the affairs of the estate, but I am afraid I shall not 
be over well off. Gilbert would play, and 1 suppose I 
was extravagant. We lived far beyond our means. 
This place is mortgaged heavily." 

“What — the Manor?" asked Brenda, startled. 

“Yes, all our property is mortgaged. 1 expect I 
shall be left with nothing but the ten thousand pounds 
for which Gilbert’s life was insured. Fortunately it 
was settled on me at the time of our marriage, so his 
creditors can’t touch it. I hate being poor," cried 
Lady Jenny, viciously; “and, so far as 1 can see, 1 shall 
be — very poor." 

“ 1 had no idea things were so bad." 

“Nor had 1 until six months ago, when Gilbert told 
me. We have lived from hand to mouth since then. 
All Gilbert’s efforts have been directed to staving off 
ruin." 

Brenda’s heart sank within her. “What about 
Harold’s money ?" 

“Oh, Harold and Wilfred are all right," said Lady 
Jenny, hastily; “at least, I suppose so. Gilbert al- 
ways said that he took good care of their money, and 
I think he did. He was not the man to place himself 
within reach of the law by appropriating trust monies 
— at least, I can’t believe he would do such a thing. 
But next week the whole matter will be gone into. 
Then 1 suppose you and Harold will get married." 

“Of course. In any case — money or no money — 
we shall be married." 


What Mr. Scarse Admitted. 


79 


“Oh, I don’t know. It’s absurd marrying on noth- 
ing. Gilbert was well ofif when I became his wife, or 
I shouldn’t have married him; had I known he was a 
gambler, I should have refused him. He made a nice 
mess of his life.” 

“I thought you loved him.” 

“I did, a deal better than he deserved,” said Lady 
Jenny, bitterly. “ But — but— oh, what is the use of 
talking! He was a bad man — another woman — his 
fault — and I — my dear, don’t you trust Harold. All 
men are bad.” 

“I always understood Mr. Malet was devoted to 
you.” 

“ So did I — until I found him out. It came about in 
the strangest way — the discovery, I mean.” Lady 
Jenny paused, as though considering whether to speak 
out or not. Finally she decided to hold her tongue. 
“But then these things concern only myself,” said 
she, abruptly. “He deceived me — I was jealous — that 
is all you need know. But I cannot say that I sorrow 
for him now that he is dead.” 

“ Oh, how can you speak so ?” 

“ Because I am a woman, and jealous. When Harold 
deceives you, Brenda, you will feel as I do — feel that 
you could kill him with your own hand.” Lady Jenny 
looked suddenly at the girl’s blonde beauty. “ But no! 
you are a cold Saxon girl, with little such spirit in you. 
I — my father was Irish, my mother Italian, and I have 
in me all the fire of Celt and Latin. It was well for 
Gilbert that he died when he did,” she said between 
her teeth; “ I don’t know what I should have done! ” 

The bitterness and passion with which she spoke 


8o 


A Traitor in London. 


were both new to Brenda, who had never suspected 
her of such depth of feeling. Being in the dark, more 
or less, concerning its cause, she hardly knew what to 
say, so she held her peace. She felt that nothing she 
could say would alter her friend’s feelings, and might 
possibly even aggravate them. After a turn up and 
down the room, the widow resumed her seat, and 
seemed to become calmer. 

“Where are you going to stay in town, Brenda?” 

“With my aunt, Mrs. St. Leger, in Kensington. 
My father always lives in his own rooms, you know. 
He doesn’t want to be troubled with a grown-up 
daughter.” 

“He won’t be troubled long if Harold is to be 
believed.” 

“You mean our marriage? No! But you know 
my father doesn’t approve of it. He wants me to 
marry Mr. van Zwieten.” 

“That Dutchman! Horrid creature! I never could 
bear him. Gilbert liked him, though.” 

“Indeed!” said Brenda, rather surprised. “Mr. 
van Zwieten told me he and Mr. Malet were not 
friendly.” 

Lady Jenny laughed in a way not good to hear. 
“Very likely. Van Zwieten is cunning — slim, as his 
countrymen call it. 1 know more about him though 
than he thinks.” 

“ Do you know who he is ? ” 

“Yes, I know who he is, and how he makes his 
money, and why he is in England.” 

“How did you find out? "asked Brenda, breath- 
lessly. 


What Mr. Scarse Admitted. 8i 

“ Oh, that I mustn’t tell you — suppose you were to 
tell Van Zwieten ?” 

“Tell him! “ repeated Miss Scarse, her face crimson, 
her eyes bright. “Why, I hate him more than any 
man I ever knew. He wants to marry me, and won’t 
take a refusal. My father supports him, and, for 
Harold’s sake, 1 have to fight them both.” 

“ And you are not afraid of so formidable a foe ?” 
said the widow, seeing her eyes droop. 

“Not of my father, but I am afraid of Mr. van 
Zwieten. He is a terrible man, and has so powerful 
a will that he can almost impose it on mine. There is 
something hypnotic about him, and 1 feel scarcely 
mistress of myself when he is near me.” 

“Nonsense! You are fanciful, child.” 

“Indeed — indeed I am not,” protested the girl, 
eagerly. “ But you don’t know how strong and 
obstinate he is. He never loses his temper, he just 
looks and looks with those terrible eyes of his, and 
repeats his desire — his will — his intentions — over and 
over again. I feel like a rabbit in the presence of a 
snake. And that’s why I want Harold and me to be 
married soon, because 1 feel, if we are not, Mr. van 
Zwieten will compel me in spite of myself.” 

Lady Jenny bent forward and caught Brenda’s 
wrists. “My dear, if Van Zwieten tries these pranks 
on, you send for me. If any one can save you from 
him, 1 can.” 

“ But how ?” 

“That is my affair. Van Zwieten may be all you 
say, but 1 can make him afraid of me. Now you 
must go, my dear. 1 have a lot of letters to write.” . 


82 


A Traitor in London. 


Brenda went off much puzzled over Lady Jenny’s 
attitude toward Van Zwieten. Evidently she knew 
something to the man’s disadvantage. But Brenda 
was doubtful whether her friend could use her knowl- 
edge sufficiently cleverly to crush the Dutchman. 
His resource was extraordinary, and he was clever 
and unscrupulous enough to be able to defend him- 
self in an emergency. However, she felt it was no 
use trying to forecast the future. She resolved to 
keep out of Van Zwieten’s way and get Harold to 
marry her as soon as possible. Once she was Mrs. 
Burton, the Dutchman would be obliged to cease per- 
secuting her. 

For the next few days Brenda was fully occupied’ 
with her packing. As Harold was in London, or 
rather so near London that he could come up there 
quickly, she was glad to be going. She felt she must 
see him and have from him an explanation, and an 
understanding as to when their m.arriage could take 
place. At her aunt’s she would be safe from Van 
Zwieten, since Mr. St. Leger did not like him; but 
Brenda knew well that for his own ends — whatever 
these might be — her father would, as ever, insist on 
her favoring Van Zwieten. 

The only way to put an end to the intolerable 
situation was to marry Harold. With that, her father 
would no doubt wash his hands of her, but at least 
she would be relieved from the persecutions of the 
Dutchman, and would have some one to love and pro- 
tect her. So it was with thankfulness that Brenda left 
the cottage. 

In the train she found a travelling companion whom 


What Mr. Scarse Admitted. 83 

she did not expect — none other than Harold’s brother. 
Wilfred’s foot was now quite well, and he looked 
better in health than when Brenda had last seen him. 
He joined her at Langton Junction, and they travelled 
up in the same carriage, which they were fortunate 
enough to have to themselves. She was pleased 
that it was so, for she wanted to talk confiden- 
tially with Wilfred. They were the best of good 
friends. 

“ 1 am so glad your foot is all right again, Wilfred,” 
she said cheerfully. “It is such a painful thing — a 
sprain.” 

“ Yet for all that I am not sorry I sprained it,” said 
Wilfred, turning his thin white face toward the girl. 

“ Not sorry ! What do you mean ? ” 

“Oh, it’s an ill wind — you know.” 

“ Yes, I suppose it is. But it’s difficult to see 
what sort of ‘good ’ one can look for from a sprained 
ankle! ” 

“Well, in this instance I fancy it did me a good 
turn. You see it rendered me physically helpless for 
the time being.” 

“ My dear Wilfred — I confess you puzzle me.” 

“Do I.^ Well, I’ll tell you what I mean. The 
night, almost the hour, I sprained my ankle, poor 
Malet was shot. So no one can possibly accuse me 
of having shot him I ” 

“ But who would dare to accuse you of such a 
thing } ” 

“Oh, I don’t know; that fool of an inspector was 
quite prepared to fix his beastly suspicions on Harold 
— told me as much.” 


A Traitor in London. 


84 

“I know; but then you see Harold and Mr. Malet 
quarrelled. That was the reason Mr. Woke was sus- 
picious. But of course Harold laughed at the idea.” 

“ I should think so. 1 confess the whole thing licks 
me. 1 can’t imagine who can have done it.” 

“No one knows. Lady Jenny says no one ever will 
know! ” 

“ I suppose not. It seems to be relegated to the list 
of undiscovered crimes. Do you know, Brenda, I 
have had my suspicions! ” 

A cold hand clutched the girl’s heart. She immedi- 
ately thought of her father. “Have you.?” she 
faltered. “ Of whom ? ” 

“ Well, I wouldn’t tell every one, as I have really no 
sort of basis for them. They are the purest sus- 
picions. But I suspect that big Dutchman who was 
staying at your place.” 

“Van Zwieten!” Brenda’s mind ran over the 
events of that terrible night. The Dutchman had 
been out; he had come in after her. But again her 
father had told the servants that Van Zwieten was in 
the study with him — a distinct falsehood. Which- 
ever way she looked at it, her father seemed to be 
mixed up in the matter. “Yet what possible motive 
could Van Zwieten have had to impel him to such a 
crime?” she asked Wilfred. 

“ It might be a political crime,” said the young man, 
his face lighting up as it invariably did when he 
talked politics. “Gilbert was an Imperialist — always 
preaching and writing against the Boers. Van 
Zwieten is Dutch, and is going out to an appointment 
at Pretoria; also he is an intimate friend of Dr. Leyds- 


What Mr. Scarse Admitted. 85 

He might have wished to get Gilbert out of the way 
because he was dangerous to his schemes.” 

“ Surely he wouldn’t have gone the length of mur- 
der fbr such a reason.” 

“Oh, I don’t know. If he could without being 
found out, I am certain he would. I don’t say Van 
Zwieten fired the shot himself, but he might have 
hired some one to do it.” 

“ What makes you think that, Wilfred ? ” 

“Well, I was talking to the station-master at Chip- 
pingholt. He said that a man in a dark overcoat with 
a soft hat pulled over his eyes went to Langton Junc- 
tion by the 10:30 train — the last train on that night. 
Van Zwieten saw him off at the station. He was 
seen to follow the man to the compartment and put 
his head through the window. There was evidently 
an understanding between them. Now you know, 
Brenda, few strangers come to Chippingholt, for 
there is nothing to see there. It was odd, to say the 
least of it, that Van Zwieten should have seen this fel- 
low off. Moreover, he just left after the murder was 
committed.” 

“ I don’t see though how you are justified from this 
in thinking that either Van Zwieten or the other man 
is implicated in the murder,” said Brenda after a pause. 
“They might simply have met on business.” 

“ What sort of business ? ” 

“I can’t say, I am not in Mr. van Zwieten’s confi- 
dence.” 

Wilfred’s eyes flashed. “I wish I was!” he said 
emphatically. “ I believe the fellow is a Boer spy 1” 

“I thought so too, and I told him so.” 


86 


A Traitor in London 


“ What did he say ? ” 

‘'He denied it. Wilfred, did anyone see the face 
of this stranger ? ” 

“No. He kept his coat collar turned up, and his 
hat well over his eyes. Why ? " 

“ Nothing, 1 was only wondering.” Brenda dreaded 
lest she should hear that the stranger was he who so 
closely resembled her father. She wondered, too, 
whether it was possible her father could have assisted 
this man to escape after he had shot Mr. Malet; for 
that the crime had been committed by the same man 
who wore the black crape scarf seemed conclusively 
proved by the presence of that piece of it in the vic- 
tim’s hand. 

“I intend to keep a pretty close watch on Mr. van 
Zwieten,” went on Wilfred. “In fact, that is why I 
have come up to town. If, as I suspect, he is a spy, 
the authorities must know of it. In the event of hos- 
tilities breaking out between this country and the 
Transvaal, he would of course be arrested at once.” 

“ But you cannot prove his complicity in this matter, 
Wilfred?” 

“ I intend to have a shot at it any way,” replied the 
young man, grimly. “ But come, Brenda, here we are 
at Victoria. Let me put you in a hansom.” 

“Do come and see me, Wilfred. I’m at Mrs. St. 
Leger’s.” 

“Thanks; I will. I may ask you to help me too in 
my pursuit of this Dutchman.” 

“ How you seem to hate Mr. van Zwieten, Wilfred,” 
she exclaimed. “ Have you any especial reason to 
dislike him ? ” 


What Mr. Scarse Admitted. 87 

“I hate him because he is the enemy of my 
country.” 

As the cab drove away, Brenda mused on the fervent 
patriotism of the man. Frail, neurotic, frequently ail- 
ing, a prey to chronic melancholia, yet he was of the 
stuff of which such men as Hampden, Pym and Crom- 
well are made. He believed in the greatness of Eng- 
land as he did in the existence of God. Her every tri- 
umph sent a thrill through him, her lightest disaster 
cut him to the quick. It was as if he were ever under 
the influence of a fixed idea. But if he were, the idea 
was at least a noble and an elevating one. His spirit 
was strong as his body was weak, and through his 
body he paid dearly for his patriotic emotions. 

It had been Brenda’s intention to drive at once to 
Kensington, but when she recalled all that Wilfred 
had said, she felt she must see her father, if only to 
clear her mind of suspicion. Had he assisted — as 
seemed probable — in the escape of the unknown man, 
he must have known that the creature was a murderer, 
since there could be no other reason for such a hurried 
and secretive flight. She felt she could not rest until 
she had the truth from his own lips. Hence she told 
the man to drive to his chambers in Star Street. 

Fortunately the old man was in. He looked leaner 
and whiter, she thought, than ever. He was buried in 
the evening papers, from which he was cutting out 
slips, which he proceeded to paste into a large book. 
It was from these clippings of editorial opinion and 
collected data that he constructed his speeches, throw- 
ing in as flavoring a dash of his own dogmatic 
optimism, and some free expression reflecting the 


88 


A Traitor in London. 


true humanity of other nations as compared with that 
of his own brutal country, of which, in truth, he had 
little to say that was not abusive. 

As usual, he received Brenda coldly, and wondered 
why she had not driven at once to her aunt’s. She 
soon explained to him her reasons. 

“ Father, 1 am worrying myself to death about that 
man with the crape scarf.” 

Scarse colored and averted his eyes. ‘ ‘ Why, pray ? ” 
he asked. 

“ Because I can’t get over his resemblance to you. 
Is he a relative ? ” 

“No.” Scarse cleared his throat and spoke. “The 
fact is, Brenda, I wore that crape scarf and snuff- 
colored coat myself. I am the man Harold saw.” 


CHAPTER VII. 


AUNT JUDY. 

For a while Brenda did not grasp the full significance 
of her father’s admission. She stared at him blankly. 
Then the recollection of that morsel of crape in the 
dead man’s hand, and all that it meant, came upon her 
with overwhelming force. She could not cry, but a 
choking sensation came at her throat. Her father was 
the man who had worn the crape scarf — then her 
father was the man who had murdered Gilbert Malet! 

What is it, Brenda ? Why do you look at me like 
that.^” he asked nervously. 

He stood beyond the circle of light cast by the lamp 
on the table, and she could not see his face, but by the 
tremor of his voice she guessed that he was badly 
frightened. She pulled herself together — what the 
effort cost her no one but herself knew — and came at 
once to the gist of the thing. 

“Father, did you shoot Mr. Malet?” 

“ I ? No. Are you mad, girl, to say such a thing ? 
How dare you — to me, your father?” Indignation 
apparently choked further speech on the part of Mr. 
Scarse. 

“God help me! yes, you are my father,” wailed 
Brenda. She threw herself face downwards on the 
sofa and sobbed bitterly. There was that in her 
father’s nervous denial which impelled her to believfe 
89 


90 


A Traitor in London. 


that her suspicions were correct. If he had not him- 
self killed Malet, at least he knew who had. But at 
the present moment Brenda firmly believed that his 
own hand had fired the fatal shot. 

“ Brenda, listen to me; you speak foolishly; we must 
understand one another. What grounds have you for 
making such a terrible accusation against me ?” 

The old man’s voice was now steady, and he spoke 
harshly. He poked the fire and expanded his thin, 
dry hands to the blaze. It was a haggard face which 
the spurting flames illumined; but the mouth was 
firmly set, and there was a hard, dogged expression 
in the eyes. As Brenda made no reply, and still con- 
tinued to sob, he cast an impatient glance at her 
prostrate figure and went over to the sideboard. 
Thence he returned with a glass of wine. 

“Drink this, Brenda, and don’t be a fool. I did not 
murder the man.” 

The girl sat up and slowly drank the wine. Her 
father crossed over to the door and locked it, upon 
which the girl laughed contemptuously. 

“Do you think I have the police in waiting?” she 
said. 

“That is not the way to speak to your father,” 
snarled he, sitting down. 

But the wine had put new life into Brenda, and she 
was regaining courage with her returning color. Not 
by this man — the father who had been no father to 
her — was she to be daunted. With a quick movement 
she removed the lampshade, and the sudden spread of 
the light showed her Mr. Scarse biting his nails with 
anything but a reassuring expression on his face. At 


Aunt Judy. gi 

that moment Brenda felt she hated the author of her 
being. 

“You are my father in name, nothing more,” she 
said coldly. “ In no way have you ever attempted to 
gain my affection. You kept me at school as long as 
you could, and only when it was forced upon you did 
you take charge of my life. I have no love for you, 
nor have you for me; but I always respected you until 
now.” 

Scarse winced, and his parchment-like skin grew 
pink. “And why don’t you respect me now?” 

“Because I am Certain that, even if you did not kill 
kirn, you had something to do with the death of Mr. 
Malet! ” 

“That is untrue,” replied he, composedly. 

Brenda looked at him keenly. “The murderer wore 
a crape scarf. Of that I have direct evidence. I also 
know that you burnt that scarf.” 

“How do you know that ? ” he snapped. 

“I found the ashes under the grate, and I picked up 
a scrap of the crape. Nevertheless, in spite of your 
admission, I am not certain now in my own mind that 
it was you who wore it. Father, you were not the 
man whom Harold met.” 

“I am — I was,” insisted Scarse, doggedly. “I put 
on that old coat because I couldn’t find the one I 
usually wear. As to the scarf, I wore it in token of 
my sorrow for the way in which this country is being 
ruined by its statesmen.” 

But Brenda declined to accept this explanation. 

“You are not mad, father,” she said quietly; “and 
only a madman would wear yards of crape round his 


92 


A Traitor in London. 


neck in mourning for the delinquencies of his country’s 
leaders; and only a madman would have killed Mr. 
Malet!” She paused, and, as he made no reply, con- 
tinued; “The man Harold mistook for you was seen 
by other people, who also made the same mistake. 
What he came to Chippingholt for 1 know as well as 
you do. He came with the full intention of killing 
Mr. Malet.” 

“Go on, go on,” jeered her father; “you are mak- 
ing out a fine case against me.” 

“Not against you, but against this relative of yours. 
Ah! you wince. 1 am right. He is a relative. No 
person who wasn’t could bear so strong a resemblance 
to another. He is some relation of whom you are 
ashamed — a twin brother, for all 1 know. He was 
in your study that day when you said it was Van 
Zwieten who was with you.” 

“He was not!” retorted Scarse, angrily. “How 
dare you make me out a liar ? Van Zwieten was with 
me. I locked the door of the study because we had 
quarrelled. He insisted on leaving the room, and, as I 
refused to open the door, he stepped out of the win- 
dow, and went round and rang the front-door bell for 
admittance.” 

“That is an ingenious, but a far-fetched explana- 
tion, father.” 

“ It is the true one. You can take or leave it.” 

“1 leave it, then,” said Brenda, calmly. “You had 
the stranger in your study, and you afterwards sent 
him off by the lor^o train. He was seen at the 
station! ” 

Scarse started. “ By whom ? ” he asked hurriedly. 


93 


Aunt Judy- 

‘*By Van Zwieten and the station-master! ” 

“Van Zwieten?” repeated Scarse, irritably. “He 
saw — who told you all this rubbish ? ” 

“ Wilfred. The station-master told him. Besides, 
it is not rubbish. Oh, father, why won’t you be frank 
with me ? We have not much feeling for one another, 
but still I am your daughter, and I want to help you; 
so does Harold ” 

“What has he to do with it?” asked Scarse, 
sharply. 

“ It was Harold who searched the corpse before it 
was taken to the Manor,” replied Brenda, speaking 
slowly. “ In the clenched right hand a morsel of black 
crape was found. Father, it was torn off that scarf! 

“ You cannot be certain of that.” 

“How otherwise could so strange a material as 
crape come to be in the dead man’s hand ? He cried 
out before he was shot; I heard him. He must have 
clutched at his assailant and torn a piece from his 
scarf.” 

“ Did you see me shoot Mr. Malet ? ” 

“I saw no one shoot him; but I am certain it was 
that man.” 

Scarse rose and paced up and down the room. “ I 
was the man, I tell you, who wore the scarf,” he said 
for the third time, “and I never even saw Malet on 
that night. I have no brother, no relatives of any 
kind, save your aunt, Mrs. St. Leger.” 

“ You won’t trust me?” said Brenda, sadly. 

“ There is nothing more to say,” replied her father, 
his features set hard as a flint. “ It is useless my giv- 
ing you the facts if you won’t believe them. I have 


94 


A Traitor in London. 


no idea who the man was who was seen at the station. 
Van Zwieten said nothing to me about it. I am the 
man Harold took for a stranger, and I cut Captain 
Burton because I dislike him very much. I did not 
see Mr. Malet — certainly 1 did not kill him — and — and 
I have no more to say.” 

“ How do you account for that piece of crape in the 
hand of ” 

“ Brenda! ” interrupted he, turning on her, “ I could 
give you an explanation of that which would amaze 
you; but I will rest content with saying that the scrap 
you refer to was not torn off the scarf 1 wore. I burnt 
the scarf after 1 had had it on once, because I thought 
— well, because 1 thought it was foolish of me.” 

“ Father, I am certain you are not speaking openly.” 

“No, 1 am not. If 1 did, you would at once see that 
you were wrong in suspecting me of this crime. I am 
not guilty of it.” 

“No, 1 don't think you are,” said Brenda; “but you 
are shielding some one.” 

“Perhaps I am,” replied he, smiling sourly; “but 
not the stranger you have invented — he does not 
exist.” He paused, and then asked abruptly, “ Has 
Burton mentioned this matter to any one ? ” 

“Only to me. For your sake he keeps silent.” 

“Oh!” Scarse smiled sourly again. “I suppose 
he thinks he’ll force me into consenting to your en- 
gagement that way. But he won’t. You shall marry 
Van Zwieten.” 

Brenda rose and drew her cloak around her. “I 
have told you I will marry no one but Harold,” she 
said coldly. “There is no need to discuss the matter 


Aunt Judy. 95 

further. My cab is waiting, so I’ll drive on to Aunt 
Judy’s.” 

“With your mind somewhat more at rest, I trust,” 
said he, as she unfastened the door. 

“Yes, so far as you personally are concerned. But 
you know who murdered that man, and you are shield- 
ing him.” 

“ I deny that! ” Then, as she went out of the door, 
he ran after her, and said in a loud whisper, “Think 
if there is no one else who wears crape at Chipping- 
holt ? ” 

Before she could make reply to this he closed the 
door. She did not pay much attention to it, because 
she had made up her mind about the stranger, whom 
she felt convinced her father was shielding. She went 
down the stairs and got into her cab. In a few mo- 
ments she was again in Piccadilly on her way west. 
There at Aunt Judy’s she felt sure at least of a warm 
welcome. 

A stout, good-natured woman was Mrs. St. Leger. 
She conceived it to be her one duty in life to keep her 
husband in a good temper. And experience had 
proved to her that the only means of performing this 
was by a strict attention to his diet— no easy task, see- 
ing that he was a peppery old Indian colonel with a 
liver and a temper. He had long since retired from 
the army after a career of frontier skirmishing in 
Northern India, and now passed his time between his 
home in Kensington and his military club. In both 
places he was greatly feared for his hectoring manner 
and flow of language, which was well-nigh irresisti- 
ble. Mrs. St. Leger was always thankful when the 


96 A Traitor in London. 

meals passed off without direct conflict, and she spent 
most of her day reading cookery books for the un- 
earthing of delicacies, and having unearthed them, in 
consulting the cook how to prepare them for the fas- 
tidious palate of her lord and master. 

The old couple were fond of Brenda — Aunt Judy 
because the girl was a comfort to her in some vague 
sort of way which she could not define, and Uncle Bill 
because Brenda was not in the least in awe of his tem- 
per, and gave him every bit as good as she received. 

To each other Colonel and Mrs. St. Lreger were 
always Julia and William; but Brenda from her earliest 
childhood had known them as Aunt Judy and Uncle 
Bill, and to those fond appellations she still clung. 
Had any one else dared to address the colonel so, he 
would assuredly have taken an apoplectic fit on the 
spot, being so predisposed and of “full habit”; but 
Brenda he graciously permitted to be thus familiar. 
To sum up the worthy colonel’s character, it may be 
stated that he hated Mr. Scarse as bitterly as he hated 
cold meat; and to any one who knew him the com- 
parison would have been all sufficient. 

“Dear, dear child,” cooed Mrs. St. Leger as Brenda 
sipped her cup of tea in the drawing-room, “how 
good it is to see you again. William ” 

“Very glad, very glad,” rasped the colonel, who 
was glowering on the hearthrug. “I want to hear all 
about this iniquitous murder. Poor Malet! Clever 
chap, but always contradicting — good fellow all the 
same. Wrote and talked well against these damned 
Little Englanders. Gad! I’d forgive Judas Iscariot if 
he did that! ” 


Aunt Judy. 97 

“Have they caught the murderer, dear?” asked 
Aunt Judy, with a beaming smile on her fat face. 

“No,” replied Brenda. “Nor do I believe they ever 
will catch him.” 

“Him! ” roared Uncle Bill, chuckling. “Egad! and 
how d’you know it’s a ‘ him ’ ? Might be a ‘ her.’ 
Eh, what ? I suppose in these days a woman can fire 
a revolver as well as a man, eh ? ” 

“ A woman ! — why a woman ? ” 

“Eh, why? I don’t know. Why should the poor 
devil have been killed at all ?” 

“ Yes, why should he have been killed at all, that’s 
what William and I want to know,” bleated Aunt 
Judy. “ How does Lady Jenny take it, Brenda, dear ? ” 

“Oh, very quietly. She is much less grieved than 1 
had expected her to be.” 

“ H’m! ” rasped the colonel, in a parade voice. “I 
dare say she is pleased for that matter. Most of 'em 
are when they bury their husbands. 1 can fancy Julia 
smiling when 1 toddle.” 

“Oh, William, how can you? By the way, has 
Lady Jenny been left well off, Brenda?” 

“No, 1 am afraid not. She says Mr. Malet was 
terribly extravagant.” 

“He was a gambler,” shouted the colonel, “well 
known round the clubs. When he wasn’t dropping it 
at Monte Carlo, he was running amuck on ’Change. 
Always had bad luck that chap,” added he, rubbing 
his nose; “lost thousands. The wonder is he didn’t 
go under long ago. Shouldn’t be surprised to hear 
Lady Jenny had been left without a sixpence.” 

“Oh, no, uncle; she has ten thousand pounds at 


A Traitor in London. 


98 

least; her husband's life was insured for that, and she 
says his creditors can’t touch that.” 

“Perhaps not, but hers can. 1 knew old Lord Scilly 
— no end of a spendthrift, and his daughter’s like him, 
or I’m mistaken. Women are all spendthrifts ” 

“Well, I’m sure, William ” 

“Oh! you’re all right, Julia. There are worse than 
you. Nice little woman Lady Jenny, though, all the 
same — good sporting sort, shoots jolly straight, and 
all that.” 

“A thing I highly disapprove of,” said Mrs. St. 
Leger, shaking her head mildly. “I’m glad, dear 
child,” turning to Brenda, “that you don’t do that sort 
of thing. It is so unladylike, 1 think.” 

“ Perhaps it’s a pity 1 don’t, aunt. If I go to the 
front with Harold I might be all the better for know- 
ing how to pull the trigger of a gun or a revolver.” 

“ Harold! — what, young Burton! ” growled the colo- 
nel. “Are you going to marry him? Is it settled ? 
It is! Well, he’s not a bad young fellow; but as a 
soldier! pooh! there are no soldiers nowadays. The 
army’s going to the dogs.” 

“ But, Brenda, dear child, what would you be doing 
at the front?” asked the old lady. “There is no 
war.” 

“Not yet; but every one says there is going to be 
war in South Africa.” 

“Of course there will be,” snapped the colonel. 
“ Do you think we’re goin’ to be defied by a couple of 
punny little Republics ? Damnable insolence, 1 call it. 
They ought to be whipped, and they will ibe. Your 
father supports the beggars, Brenda, and he’s a ” 


99 


Aunt Judy. 

‘‘William! Her father — my brother!” 

“ Beg pardon, Julia; but he is, and you know he is. 
Going against his own country. Ha! here are the 
evening papers. We’ll see what further rubbish these 
pro-Boer idiots have been talking. Julia, please see 
that dinner is punctual. And, Brenda, don’t you be 
late. I hate waiting for my meals! ” 

Thus saying, the colonel plunged out of the room, 
and Mrs. St. Leger took Brenda upstairs. The old 
lady was delighted at the news of her engagement to 
Harold, and congratulated and embraced the girl with 
much effusion, and insisted upon her asking Captain 
Burton to dine; all of which Brenda received with the 
best of good grace, notwithstanding that she was in 
no mood for conversation and longed to be alone. At 
last Mrs. St. Leger left her. 

Then she fell to thinking of the subject which was 
all the time uppermost in her mind. That last remark 
of her father’s forced itself upon her. Who else was 
there in Chippingholt who wore crape ? Then sud- 
denly it flashed across her mind that Lady Jenny did. 
Of course, she was in mourning for her father. Then 
came the colonel’s words — She was a good shot! 

Trembling all over, she sat down and wrestled with 
these two facts. They were all significant. 

“Could it — could it really be Lady Jenny.?” she 
asked herself. 

But to that question she could find no answer. 


l.ofC. 


CHAPTER VIII 


BAD NEWS 

So Brenda was in London again, and found the great 
city in an uproar over the possibility of a war in South 
Africa. Negotiations were constantly passing between 
England and the Transvaal concerning the franchise for 
the Uitlanders. History was being manufactured at 
the rate of a sensation a week; Leyds was weaving his 
plots and spreading his nets in Europe; while at Pre- 
toria Paul Kruger numbered his burghers, dispensed 
arms, and intrigued with the President of the Free 
State. Few believed that a war was inevitable, that a 
small state of farmers would defy a mighty empire. 
But there were others who knew from rumors and 
hints that real strength lay behind the apparent weak- 
ness of those two diminutive Republics. Meanwhile 
zealots like Scarse preached ever the fable of the wolf 
and the Iamb. Chamberlain was the wolf and good 
Oom Paul the Iamb — somewhat overgrown perhaps, 
but still a Iamb. 

A pro-Boer meeting was announced to be held in 
Trafalgar Square, and Scarse was to speak in favor of 
the honest, God-fearing agriculturists, who, his im- 
agination led him to believe, inhabited Pretoria. He 
and his following were dead against the war, and 
asserted that so many were the people of their opinion 
that only the big square could hold them. So they re- 
100 


Bad News. 


lOl 


joiced at the prospect of their convention, which was 
going to force England into repeating the cowardly 
policy of the Liberals after Majuba — a policy miscalled 
magnanimous, and out of which all these present 
troubles had arisen. In Amsterdam, astute Dr. Leyds 
rejoiced also on the assumption that a house divided 
against itself could not stand. His President had pro- 
vided him with that text, and the mere fact of this 
mass meeting seemed to prove the force of it. 

Meanwhile he scattered money broadcast — Uitlander 
money — that the honorable Continental Press might 
yelp and clamor like jackals at the heels of the lion 
their respective countries dare not attack. It is only 
just to say that none of Leyds’ guineas found their 
way into Scarse’s pocket. If misguided, he was at 
least honest. 

But Brenda took little notice of the question of the 
day, burning as it was. She concerned herself only 
with Harold, and had the fate of the Empire been at 
stake — as it seemed likely to be — she would still have 
thought of him. Instructed by Aunt Judy, she duly 
invited him to dinner. He refused on the plea of 
regimental duty. He would be in town, he said, 
toward the end of the week. Brenda imagined she 
could read a nervous fear in every line of his letter. 
But having no one to consult, she was obliged to wait 
his coming. He alone could explain much that was 
mysterious to her. 

Meanwhile she resolved to see her father, and ask 
upon what grounds he suspected Lady Jenny. His 
hint about the crape referred unmistakably to that 
lady. And it was true; Lady Jenny had stated very 


102 


A Traitor in London. 


plainly that she did not love her husband, and that 
because of his connection with some other woman. 
But she had said nothing on which Brenda could fasten 
now even in the light of suspicion; certainly she was 
in mourning for her father and wore crape usually. 
And it was probable that she wore it on the night of 
the murder. She had been out, too, about the hour 
when it took place. Then there was the fact that she 
was an accomplished shot; but all this evidence was 
purely circumstantial, and could in no way bring home 
the guilt to her. Yet she might have a motive, and 
Scarse might know that motive, so Brenda sought out 
her father two or three days after their last interview. 
Come what would, she intended to force him to speak 
plainly. 

That Harold’s name might be cleared from the sus- 
picions cast upon it by Inspector Woke, it was neces- 
sary that the guilt should be brought home to the right 
person. Now Brenda wished to be at rest about her 
father’s connection with the strange man whose ex- 
istence he denied. 

But on the occasion of this second visit to Star 
Street she was unfortunate. Mr. Scarse was not at 
home, and the porter of the mansions did not know 
when he would be in. Brenda went upstairs to wait, 
and was admitted into the chambers by her father’s 
old servant, a staid ex-butler who had been with him 
for years. This man brought her some tea, gave her 
an evening paper, and left her alone in the study. It 
was between four and five, so that the chances were 
that Mr. Scarse would soon return. One of his virtues 
was punctuality. 


Bad News. 


103 

Leaning back in the deep armchair by her father's 
everlasting fire — quite superfluous on this warm even- 
ing — Brenda sipped her tea and fell to thinking of 
Harold. 

She was physically tired, having been shopping all 
the morning with her aunt. The warmth of fire and 
atmosphere soothed her nerves and rnade her feel 
drowsy. In a very few minutes she was fast asleep 
and dreaming of her lover. At least so concluded her 
father’s butler when he peeped in to see if she required 
anything. 

From her slumber Brenda was awakened by the touch 
of a hand on her shoulder. Then, as she languidly 
opened her eyes, a man bent over her and kissed her. 

“ Harold,” she murmured, drowsily, “ my dar- 
ling ” 

“ 1 win the gloves. Miss Scarse,” said a quiet, calm 
voice. The man stepped back as she sprang to her 
feet. 

“Mr. van Zwieten!” she cried, with a sense of 
suffocation. “You!” 

“1,” answered Van Zwieten, removing the lamp- 
shade that he might see her more clearly. 

Then she realized that she must have been sleeping 
a long time, for the lamp had not been lit when she 
sat down. 

“You coward! "she panted, with flashing eyes— 
“you contemptible coward!” 

Cool as he was, Van Zwieten winced at the hatred 
in her voice. But the more she loathed him the more 
determined he was to make her his wife. He re- 
covered his calmness with a laugh, and stood by the 


104 ^ Traitor in London. 

table masterful and handsome in his smart town dress. 
No dandy could have been better turned out than the 
big Dutchman. 

“Ach! I have touched the proud lips of little red 
Schefen,” said he, quoting from Heine. “ Come, Miss 
Scarse, when am I to have my gloves ? " 

“ If I were a man I would kill you! ” 

“In that case — in any case — I am glad you are a 
woman. Why are you angry ? I am only anticipat- 
ing my right.” 

“Oh!” cried Brenda, clenching her hands, “will no 
one deliver me from this man ? ” 

“No one,” said Van Zwieten, slowly and deter- 
minedly. “You are mine — you always were. That 
kiss makes you doubly so.” 

Brenda, seeing it was useless to speak, cast on him 
one look of scorn and stepped toward the door. Be- 
fore she reached it he spoke again. What he said 
made her pause. 

“Wait and listen to me. Miss Scarse — for your fa- 
ther's sake. Ah! you are wise. Come, here is a 
chair. Sit down; we have much to talk about.” 

“ I prefer to stand. Tell me, what do you mean ?” 
she burst out. 

“ What I say. Listen to me, for your father’s sake. 
Or, if you care so little for him that you can get him 
into trouble without seeking to avert it, why — the 
door is open.” 

In answer to this speech Brenda sat down and 
looked steadily at the man. He met her gaze frankly, 
and throughout conducted the interview with his 
usual politeness. “ I know you do not love me,” said 


Bad News. 


105 

he, in his deep voice; “but I love you, and I am con- 
tent to win your affection after marriage.” 

“I will never marry you. Take that answer once 
and for all.” 

“ In that case you leave me free to deal with your 
father.” 

“ 1 don’t understand you.” 

“Then 1 explain — not everything, for I never trust 
women, not even you. But I know the truth about 
this murder— so does your father.” 

Brenda preserved her coolness. “Do you accuse 
him of the crime ? ” 

“ Perhaps,” replied Van Zwieten, with a singular 
smile, “ should you not agree to give up Captain Bur- 
ton and marry me. 1 know who killed Malet.” 

“ So do 1,” said Brenda, quietly. “It was the man 
you saw at the station on the night of the murder.” 

Van Zwieten smothered an ejaculation of surprise. 
“ What do you know of him ? ” 

“ I know that he killed Mr. Malet — that my father 
shielded him, and sent him away. You dare not ac- 
cuse my father of the murder.” 

“You are willing to risk that by refusing to marry 
me ? ” 

“Yes; you can do your worst.” 

The Dutchman seemed rather disconcerted. He had 
not expected to be defied like this. 

“I don’t want to proceed to extremities. Miss 
Scarse,” he said doubtfully; “but I know much that 
may damage your father should it become public. 
And if you do not care for him, there is Burton to be 
considered. 1 can get him also into trouble,” 


io6 A Traitor in London. 

“ On what grounds ? ” 

“I won’t tell you. Ask him yourself. Ask him 
why he left Chippingholt so suddenly.” 

Brenda started, for the remark confirmed her sus- 
picions that Harold was troubled in some way about 
this crime. 

“I shall ask him. Have you anything more to 
say ? ” 

“ No; that will do for the present. Only,” said Van 
Zwieten, menacingly, “I give you one last warning. 
If you marry Captain Burton, he is lost, your father is 
lost, and you will be a wretched woman all the rest of 
your days.” 

Up to the present Brenda had controlled her feel- 
ings very well. Now the feminine desire to speak 
her mind got the upper hand, and she rose to defy 
he Dutchman. 

“You speak very boldly and confidently,” she said; 
“but you do not speak plainly. You hint at my 
father’s guilt, at some link connecting Captain Burton 
with this crime. I don’t believe you have the knowl- 
edge you say you possess. I am not to be terrified by 
vain threats, Mr. van Zwieten — you are not dealing 
with a child.” 

“When the time comes, 1 shall speak out,” replied 
the man, sullenly. 

“Speak out now — if you can — if you dare! ” 

“No. I will do nothing in a hurry. But ask your 
father — ask Captain Burton — what they did on the 
night of the murder.” 

“You villain! I believe you killed the man your- 
self.” 


Bad News. 


107 


‘*0h, certainly,” mocked Van Zwieten, “if it pleases 
you to think so.” He took a turn up and down the 
room, then approached her with a grave smile. 

“Miss Scarse,” said he, entreatingly, “this is not 
the wooing I care for. 1 love you, and 1 will have you 
to be my wife, but it is not my desire to gain you by 
force. Why cannot you accept me ? I am a richer 
man than Captain Burton, and 1 will make you a 
better husband. Come with me to the Transvaal, and 
you know not what height I may raise you to. There 
will be war — 1 am certain there will be war. After- 
ward ” 

“The Transvaal will cease to exist, Mr. van 
Zwieten.” 

“ By Heaven! not so! ” swore the Dutchman, grow- 
ing red. “ Ah, you do not know how we are tricking 
these English fools. I am Dutch, born in Holland, 
but 1 have thrown in my lot with the Boers. 1 and 
Leyds and Kruger and Steyn are set upon building up 
a new nation in South Africa. As the English, a cen- 
tury ago, were driven out of America, so will they be 
driven from the Cape. They will go to war, thinking 
it will be an easy task. They do not know — they do 
not guess — we have more burghers, more arms, more 
friends than they think. They are less well prepared 
for war than we are. Wait — wait — all the world will 
be astonished before the year is out. Brenda, I could 
say much, but 1 dare not. Trust me, love me, marry 
me, and you will be great, even as 1 shall be great. 
Come with me and assist me to build up this new 
nation.” 

“At the expense of my own country!” cried the 


io8 A Traitor in London. 

girl. “I would rather die! You are a Boer spy, a 
Boer liar; but all your intrigues, all your lies, will 
come to nothing. If there is a war, your Republic 
will be crushed, and your rebellion punished. Is it to 
me, a loyal Englishwoman, that you speak.?* Marry 
you! Betray my country! I defy your threat. I 
treat with contempt your boasts of conquest. Let me 
pass, Mr. van Zwieten. Never dare to speak to me 
again.” 

With a vigorous movement she thrust him back,' and 
swept out of the door before he could recover his pres- 
ence of mind. It was just as well she had gone, for 
Van Zwieten, baffled and scorned, gave way fully to 
his rage. He did not dare to follow and make a scan- 
dal, lest it should lead to inquiry about him and his 
doings. But he strode up and down the room, swear- 
ing volubly in Dutch and English. Furious with 
Brenda, furious with himself, he could not contain his 
anger. He had played his last card, and had lost. 

“No matter,” he said, with a mighty oath, “I’ll 
make her heart ache yet! ” Though how he intended 
to do this was not clear even to himself. 

Van Zwieten was involved in a maze of intrigue; 
but he was doubtful how to use it to his own advan- 
tage. He had ample material to manufacture trouble 
in connection with this crime, but for want of certain 
missing links in the chain he was puzzled how to act. 
To Brenda he had spoken with less than his usual 
caution. He had been carried away by his feelings. 
He was madly in love with her, and the more she 
scorned him, the more he worshipped her. If he could 
not win her by fair means, he would do so by foul. 


Bad News. 


109 

Without waiting for the return of Mr. Scarse, he left 
the chambers to think out some plan whereby he 
might net Brenda in his toils. As yet he could not see 
clearly ahead. But in time he might hope to accom- 
plish much that now appeared to be impossible. 

Brenda returned to Kensington with a feeling cf 
dread. It was apparent that Van Zwieten knew some- 
thing detrimental to her father, but she had grave 
doubts whether he could use his knowledge. He 
would have used it before, she thought, had it been a 
weapon of any strength. As to Harold, she could not 
conjecture what Van Zwieten’s threat implied. He 
certainly had not killed Malet, nor, on the face of it, 
did he know anything about the matter. She looked 
forward anxiously to his arrival with the intention of 
warning him against his enemy. Only if there was 
perfect confidence between him and herself could 
they hope to baffle the wicked schemes of the Dutch- 
man. 

But Harold seemed to avoid her, and as he had ap- 
parently something to conceal, she could not assure 
herself that he would confide everything to her. In 
that case Van Zwieten might succeed in implicating 
him, for she deemed him no match for the Dutchman 
single-handed. 

The days passed, and she counted every hour, anx- 
ious for that one which would bring her lover to her 
arms. At length he came one afternoon. She found 
him looking pale and haggard as with mental torture. 
She uttered no word of reproach, but threw herself 
into his arms. He strained her almost fiercely to his 
breast and covered her face with kisses. They were 


1 lO 


A Traitor in London. 


alone in the drawing-room, as Mrs. St. Leger was out 
shopping and the colonel was holding forth at his 
club. 

For some minutes neither of them spoke. It was 
Brenda who first broke the silence. 

“ My darling, how glad 1 am to see you again,” she 
said, looking tenderly into his dark face. “Oh, why 
did you leave me so cruelly — so suddenly, at Chip- 
pingholt ?” 

“I thought you’d ask that,” replied he, with an 
effort to appear gay. “Well, dear, it was for two 
reasons; in the first place, I was recalled suddenly by 
my colonel, and besides that 1 had bad news and did 
not dare to tell you.” 

“Oh, Harold, as though I could not bear anything 
for your sake. From whom did you have bad 
news ? ” 

“ From Van Zwieten, strange to say.” 

She withdrew herself suddenly from her lover’s 
arms, and a feeling of terror came over her. Van 
Zwieten again — the man seemed to be her evil genius. 

“ What is the bad news ? ” she asked faintly. 

“ Malet gambled away my twenty thousand pounds. 
1 have nothing but my small income! ” 


CHAPTER IX. 


MRS. ST. LEGER IS DISCREET. 

“Is that all?” asked Brenda, drawing a breath of 
relief. “Oh, you stupid boy, did you run away be- 
cause you were afraid to tell me that ?” 

Captain Burton stared and drew a breath also — one 
of amazement. “Well, it’s hard to understand a 
woman,” he said, half smiling, half annoyed. “ 1 
made sure you’d cry your eyes out when you heard. 
Don’t you understand, Brenda, what it means ? If we 
are to marry at all, it must be on our five hundred a 
year?” 

“ And why not ? ” was her answer. “ I am ready if 
you are, Harold. How could you give me all this 
anxiety for such a trifle ? I want you, my dear, not 
the money. But I thought you must have had some 
other reason for going away.” 

“What other reason could I have had?” asked 
Burton, quickly, and waiting apprehensively for her 
reply. 

“Nevermind. I’ll tell you later. Only the twenty 
thousand pounds! Well, after all. I’m not surprised 
to hear of the loss.” 

“ / was very much astonished, and very wretched 
when I heard it. I can’t take the loss of all that money 
as quietly as you seem to do, Brenda. And not only 
mine has gone, but Wilfred’s too. Forty thousand 
111 


112 


A Traitor in London. 


pounds, and all his own fortune! Great Scot! the 
man must have played day and night to get rid of it. 
What folly for my father to leave it so completely in 
his power. If there had only been another trustee to 
pull him up. I don’t want to speak evil of the dead,” 
cried Harold, wrathfully, “but I could find it in my 
heart to curse Malet.” 

“No, don’t, Harold. His terrible death was punish- 
ment enough. How was it that Mr. van Zwieten 
came to know of this.^” 

“I can’t say. He refused to tell me. But he did 
know, and he tried to make me give you up on that 
account. Of course I told him — well, never mind 
what I said — it was strong and to the point. Brenda, 
we have a dangerous enemy in Van Zwieten.” 

“I always knew we had. And now that this crime 
has been committed he is more dangerous than 
ever.” 

“How do you know that?” Harold looked anx- 
iously at her. 

“ He threatened me the other day.” 

“Threatened you! — the hound! What did he 
say ? ” 

“He told me, if I did not give you up and marry 
him, he would get my father into trouble over Mr. 
Malet’s murder.” 

“Does he suspect your father?” 

“ Yes, and no. He insists that father was cognizant 
of the murder, but I think he puts the actual deed 
down to the man with the crape scarf.” 

“ That may be true. Remember what I found! ” 

“I remember. I also made a discovery,” and 


1^3 


Mrs. St. Leger is Discreet. 

Brenda told him how she had found the crape scarf 
burning in the grate of her father’s study at Chip- 
pingholt, how her father had asserted that he was the 
man seen by Harold, and many other things. Indeed, 
she told him all she knew, including her conversations 
with Lady Jenny, with Wilfred, with VanZwieten and 
with her father. Chin in hand, Harold listened atten- 
tively, putting in a word now and then. When she 
had finished, he looked utterly perplexed. 

‘Mfs all such a muddle I can’t get at the rights of 
it,” he said. “No one will speak out straight, and 
every one seems to have something to hide. Bad as 
Van Zwieten is, I don’t believe he killed Malet. I don’t 
see what motive he could have had.” 

“ Unless, as Wilfred says, it were for political rea- 
sons.” 

“Oh, Wilfred’s crazy about politics,” replied Harold, 
testily. “ He thinks of nothing else. It is a perfect 
mania with him. But Van Zwieten would not be such 
a fool as to risk his neck because Malet took up the 
cudgels against the Boers. No, Van Zwieten is inno- 
cent enough.” 

“ What about Lady Jenny ? ” 

Captain Burton changed color, and commenced to 
pace up and down the room. “She wouldn’t have 
done it. She is half an Italian, I know, and fearfully 
passionate, but I think she’d stop short of that. 
Besides, although she is a jolly good shot, I doubt 
very much if she could hit a man in the dark like that 
so square as to kill him outright.” 

“But remember, Harold, the shot was fired at close 
quarters.” 


114 


A Traitor in London. 


“I don’t believe she’d have had the nerve for that. 
Of course it’s quite possible she may be guilty, but 
there’s not a scrap of evidence against her as far as 1 
can see.” 

What about the crape ? Lady Jenny wore crape ! ” 

“That doesn’t prove that this scrap was torn from 
her dress. The crape trimmings on that would lie 
close to the dress; it wouldn’t be so easy for a man to 
make a clutch at them and tear a piece off as at a scarf, 
with the ends floating freely. My belief is that the 
morsel of crape was torn from the scarf.” 

“ Well, it was not worn by my father, in spite of 
what he says.” 

“ No. 1 dare say that man who left Chippingholt by 
the late train is the man who fired the shot. But your 
father knows all about it, Brenda. Otherwise he 
would not insist that he had worn the scarf, nor would 
he have burnt it as he did. 1 think with you that this 
unknown man is a relative of your father’s, and that 
your father is shielding him to avoid the disgrace of 
having a criminal in the family.” 

“Aunt Judy would know him if he is a relative. 

“That is very probable; you had better ask her.” 

“Harold, do you think Van Zwieten knows the 
truth ? ” 

Captain Burton hesitated. “ It would seem so,” said 
he, “but 1 don’t think he is very sure of the truth, or 
else he would speak out.” 

“ He threatens you, dear.” 

“ I know he does. He threatened me at Chipping- 
holt. Brenda, 1 don’t deny that the man is dangerous, 
and that he knows more than 1 like him to know. It 


Mrs. St. Leger is Discreet. ii^ 

is in his power to harm me, and if I marry you he will 
do his best against me. But that sha'n’t stop us, 
Brenda. We’ll get married and defy him.” 

Miss Scarse signified her full approval of this course 
of action; but she saw that her lover was keeping 
something back. 

“ Harold, what else did Van Zwieten say to you at 
Chippingholt ? ” 

“Oh, nothing of any consequence,” replied her 
lover, uneasily. 

“ My dear! ” Brenda slipped her arm round his neck 
and drew him down on the sofa beside her. “ If you 
love me, you must trust me. If you think me a sen- 
sible woman, you must be honest with me. 1 know 
you had some other reason for leaving Chippingholt so 
suddenly — it was not altogether because you were 
afraid of telling me about the loss of your money. 
Van Zwieten told me he could get you into trouble, 
and now you say the same thing. Tell me what hold 
he has over you ? ” 

“He has no hold over me,” whispered Harold. 
But she saw that his forehead was beaded with 
perspiration. 

“Tell me — tell me.?” she repeated. 

“Brenda — I cannot — 1 dare not.” 

“Then there /s something ? ” 

Captain Burton cast a glance round the room and 
nodded. “ I am not a coward,” he groaned; “ I hope 
I am not a coward, but there are some things which 
make the bravest man afraid. Van Zwieten is a 
devil! ” 

“ Does he accuse you of the murder ? ” 


ii6 A Traitor in London. 

“No, he doesn’t go so far as that, and yet — Brenda,” 
he cried, taking her hand and holding it so tightly that 
she could have screamed, “ don’t ask me any more; it 
is not my own secret.” 

“ Has it anything to do with my father 

“Partly; but you need not be anxious about that. 
He is in no danger. Leave me to fight it out with 
Van Zwieten. 1 shall get the better of him yet. No, 
no, Brenda, don’t ask me any more questions; you 
cannot help me; 1 must go through with this matter 
alone. Trust me if you love me.” 

“1 ask you to do that with me,” said Brenda, sadly, 
“and you refuse.” 

“1 don’t refuse. 1 cannot tell you now; I will tell 
you when you are my wife. Listen! we must get 
married quietly.” 

“Why quietly ? ” 

“ Because 1 am afraid of Van Zwieten. Yes, you 
may well look astonished. 1, who have never known 
fear before, fear him. He knows too much, and if he 
plots against me 1 cannot counterplot him — at all 
events for the present. We must marry! ” 

“ When and where you please, darling.” 

“ You trust me ? ” 

“Yes, on the understanding that when 1 am your 
wife you tell me everything — everything! ” 

Burton nodded again. “1 will tell you before if I 
can, Brenda. It is good of you, and like your dear 
self, to trust me. We can be married at St. Chad’s, 
at Brighton. I’ll get a special license. Down there 
we shall be free from interference by Van Zwieten.” 

“ He would not dare ■” 


Mrs. St. Leger is Discreet. 117 

“Oh, yes, he would — if he knew. He would take 
some means of preventing our marriage.” 

“ And you would let him do that ? ” 

“1—1 might, and I might not.” Captain Burton 
sighed wearily. “If it were only myself I would not 
mind, but — but there are others whom I must con- 
sider.” 

“ Harold, you are shielding some one! ” 

“ Yes — no. Brenda, dearest, for Heaven’s sake don’t 
question me.” 

She was perplexed by his indecision — annoyed by 
his reticence. But she had given her promise, and she 
would abide by it. “You will not let me help you ?” 
she said plaintively. 

“You cannot help me, dear; 1 must go through 
with this matter alone — unaided.” 

“ But I can help you,” she insisted. “ Van Zwieten 
is our enemy. Well, then. Lady Jenny can help me 
to crush him.” 

He started nervously. “What are you saying? 
Lady jenny can do nothing.” 

“ Indeed she can, Harold. She told me that if Van 
Zwieten ever proved troublesome I was to see her, and 
that she would thwart him.” 

Harold made no reply, but looked more than ever 
puzzled and perplexed. Then a light broke in upon 
Brenda. 

“ Harold ! it is Lady jenny herself you are shielding ? ” 

“I won’t — I cannot tell you,” he replied desperately. 
“Brenda, I’ll see Lady jenny myself at once. If she 
knows anything about Van Zwieten, I may be able to 
make use of her knowledge. Come, say good-bye.” 


A Traitor in London. 


1 18 


“ When shall 1 see you again ? ” 

“In three or four days. Promise me, Brenda, you 
won’t see Jenny until 1 do.” 

“1 promise. But if you fail with her, then 1 must 
see her.” 

“Yes, if 1 fail, but 1 won’t fail. You have put a 
weapon into my hand. After 1 have seen her, 1 will 
tell you the whole miserable business. We will get 
the better of Van Zwieten yet, my darling.” 

Captain Burton was picking up his spirits. He 
went away in a more cheerful frame of mind. Brenda 
felt certain that his refusal to speak was in the interest 
of Lady Jenny. Could she have fired the shot ? But 
that seemed impossible. If she herself were guilty, 
how could she silence and thwart Van Zwieten, who 
appeared to know so much about the crime ? What 
with her father’s denials, Harold’s silence, and Van 
Zwieten’s threats, Brenda was quite bewildered. 
What would be the outcome of it all ? she wondered. 

Having promised Harold not to see Lady Jenny, 
Miss Scarse cast about in her mind as to who else 
could assist her in thwarting Van Zwieten. From her 
father no help could be obtained. He was wholly on 
the Dutchman’s side, and, it would appear, under his 
thumb. Then she thought of Wilfred and his openly- 
expressed hatred of Van Zwieten. Could she not 
make use of that? In the present state of popular 
feeling a Boer spy would have a bad time if found in 
London. If Wilfred could discover that Van Zwieten 
really was on the Secret Service Staff of the Transvaal, 
he could force the Dutchman to leave England under 
threat of denouncing him to the authorities. 


Mrs. St. Leger is Discreet. 1 19 

No sooner had she come to this conclusion than she 
acted upon it, and wrote a note to Wilfred’s London 
address asking him to call. Having posted it, she re- 
turned to the drawing-room to make tea for Aunt 
Judy, who had just got back from her shopping. 
The colonel was still absent, so the two ladies settled 
themselves down to the discussion of chiffons. If 
there was one thing Mrs. St. Leger was fond of it was 
dress. As for Brenda, her mind was too much pre- 
occupied with her own troubles to care much for 
fashions or bargains. But strive as she might to hide 
her indifference, it did not take her aunt long to see 
that her interest was assumed. But that she put down 
to her lover’s visit. 

'‘Why didn’t he stay to tea ” she asked, putting 
away her purchases. 

“ Because he had to get back to Aldershot,” replied 
Brenda, pouring out the tea. “ They are very busy 
down there.” 

“Oh, Brenda, do you think there will be war.^ 
How glad I am that William has retired.” 

“That is not the speech of a true soldier’s wife. 
Aunt Judy.” 

“My dear, it’s all very well talking,” replied Mrs. 
St. Leger, testily, “but you don’t know what war is. 
I don’t mean these little frontier skirmishes, but a real 
— that is truly terrible. I remember the Crimea.” 

“I don’t think this will be so bad, auntie. The 
Transvaal is not Russia.” 

“All the same 1 fancy they are better prepared than, 
we think. William says so. He has heard all kinds 
of rumors at the club. Well, if it’s got to be it’s got 


120 


A Traitor in London. 


to be. You will have to lose your Harold for a time, 
dear.” 

“ In a good hour be it spoken,” cried Brenda, hastily, 
to avert the omen. “Don’t say I’ll lose him, aunt. 
Of course he will go to the front; but don’t speak of 
losing him.” 

“Well, you never know, my dear. Oh, Brenda, I 
do wish your father were not going to speak at this 
mass meeting. There is sure to be trouble.” 

“ I don’t think he’ll mind that,” said the girl. “ My 
father and those who think with him are doing all 
they can to bring about the war by confirming Kruger 
in his obstinacy.” 

“Stuart always was wrong-headed and obstinate,” 
sighed Mrs. St. Leger. “I’m sure I tremble when he 
comes here. William and he do nothing but wrangle.” 

“Aunt Judy,” said Brenda, thinking the present 
a good opportunity, “do you know I am deplorably 
ignorant about my family?” 

“Ignorant, my dear? how do you mean? Your 
mother, I know, was a sweet woman, and died all too 
young. If she had only lived Stuart might have been 
very different.” 

“I was thinking more of my father, aunt. Is he 
your only brother?” 

Mrs. St. Leger almost dropped her cup. She looked 
scared and her face blanched. “ Why do you ask me 
that, Brenda?” she asked in a faltering voice. 

“ Because I have seen a man so like my father as to 
make me think he must be some relative — possibly a 
brother.” 

“ Where did you see him ?” 


21 


Mrs. St. Leger is Discreet. i 

“At Chippingholt. Aunt Jady, tell me, who is he.?" 

Mrs. St. Leger recovered herself. “ My dear Brenda, 
how should I know who the man is .? You have been 
misled probably by a chance resemblance." 

“The resemblance was too strongly marked to be 

mere chance. And my father " Brenda checked 

herself. “Auntie, surely you can answer a simple 
question ?" 

“What is it you want to know?" asked the old 
lady, nervously. 

“ Have you two brothers ? " 

“No. Your father is my only brother," said Mrs. 
St. Leger, but by the way in which she said it Brenda 
knew that she spoke falsely. 


CHAPTER X. 


THE MASS MEETING. 

The better day, the better deed. Acting on the 
advice of this proverb, those responsible for the pro- 
Boer meeting convened it on a Sunday, that all those 
engaged on other days in earning their bread might 
attend. And so far as numbers went, the crowded 
state of Trafalgar Square seemed to justify this course. 
Nelson’s Column soared from a dense mass of people, 
which even overflowed into the streets approaching 
the great open space. On all sides the windows were 
filled with curious spectators, who, apprehensive all 
the while of trouble, gazed forth expectantly over the 
sea of heads below. But they need have had no fear. 
The mob was on its best behavior — good-natured and 
roughly jocular as an English crowd ever is — amenable 
to law and order, and ever ready to be controlled by 
the police. 

Platforms for the convenience of the orators had 
been erected round the grand column — the symbol of 
an Empire which these well-meaning busybodies were 
so anxious to dismember and destroy. Below, crowded 
laborers, artisans, shopkeepers, traders of all kinds ; and 
on the fringe of the mob, hard by the National Gallery, 
were lines of hansom cabs, surmounted by clubmen 
from Pall Mall and St. James’ Street who had come to 
see the fun. There were plenty of women, bringing 
122 


123 


The Mass Meeting. 

with them their children, when they could not leave 
them at home, and a sprinkling of redcoats and blue- 
jackets. These, as the visible symbol of England’s 
fighting power, were idolized by the mob. For, alas 
for Mr. Scarse and his supporters, the voice of the 
people was dead against their philanthropic efforts. 
Instead of the Boer National Anthem, “God Save the 
Queen ” and “Rule Britannia” were being sung. The 
Little Englanders were doing their best to laud Kruger 
and damn their own Government; but the temper of 
the mob was all the other way. In a word, the Im- 
perialists were in the majority. 

On the parapet, near the National Gallery, Brenda, 
very plainly dressed, was holding on to V/ilfred’s 
arm. He had been lunching at Mrs. St. Leger’s, and 
afterward Brenda had persuaded him to escort her 
to the meeting. She feared for the safety of her 
father, and dreaded lest his speech should draw on 
him the anger of the mob. The colonel had declined 
to come, swearing in true military style that he would 
attend no meeting meant to belittle England. 

“Is Mr. van Zwieten here.^” asked Brenda, looking 
over the sea of heads. 

“I don’t think so,” replied Wilfred, whose pale face 
was flushed with excitement. “He is too clever to 
sympathize openly with the cause he advocates. No! 
his task is to condemn the Boers in public and to sup- 
port them in private.” 

“Have you found out anything about him, Wil- 
fred ? ” 

‘ ‘ Yes. He lives ostensibly in Duke Street, St. James ; 
but he has other rooms in Westminster, where he passes 


124 


A Traitor in London. 


under another name. There he receives all kinds of 
queer people — especially at night.” 

“Spies?” asked Brenda, so low as not to be heard 
by those near her. 

“1 believe so. He calls himself Jones, and a good 
many spies go up to see Mr. Jones. The scoundrel! 
To plot treason almost in the shadow of the Clock 
Tower! But 1 do not blame him so much as those 
who are betraying their country. After all. Van 
Zwieten is a foreigner, and naturally hates us; but 
there are Englishmen, Brenda — Englishmen born and 
bred — who are selling secrets for Transvaal gold. Td 
hang the lot if 1 could! ” 

“Hush, Wilfred, don’t speak so loud. Can you 
prove that Van Zwieten is a spy ?” 

“Not yet; but 1 have a plan in my head to trap 
him.” 

“ He will not be easily trapped.” 

“No; he is a cunning beast, but I’ll get the better of 
him yet. When 1 tear his mask off he’ll be forced to 
leave London. Hullo! there’s your father! ” 

Brenda turned pale as that familiar lean figure 
appeared on the platform. He was saluted with a 
groan. Several Union Jacks were waved defiantly in 
his face, and a few bars of “God Save the Queen” 
were sung with lusty strength. A small knot of people 
stood round him. Taking off his hat, he advanced to 
the edge of the platform. A few expressions, such as 
“God-fearing farmers,” “greedy capitalists,” “the 
Jingoism of Chamberlain,” “ the treachery of Rhodes,” 
caught Brenda’s ear, and then her father’s voice was 
drowned in a roar of cheering and singing. In vain 


125 


The Mass Meeting. 

did Mr. Scarse hold up his hand for silence; in reply he 
was assailed with insults, and a lifeguardsman was 
shouldered and passed along the heads of the crowd, a 
red spot of color amid the neutral tints. Union Jacks 
were waved, “Rule Britannia” was sung. Many a 
groan was there for Kruger; many a cheer for “joe”; 
and the close-locked crowd, maddened by the sound 
of its own voice, rolled and swung like a stormy sea. 

“Pore thing! pore thing!” said an old woman near 
Brenda, “ 1 'ope they won’t chuck him into the fount- 
ings.” 

“Oh, Wilfred!” gasped the girl, terrified for her 
father’s safety. 

But the suggestion met with the approval of the 
crowd, and passed from mouth to mouth until it 
reached those immediately under the fountain. A 
roar went up to the sky, and several enthusiasts en- 
deavored to clamber up the platform. The police 
beat them back, and order was restored for the mo- 
ment. Then, as an appeal to the chivalry of the mob, 
a grim-looking female with a black bag came forward 
to speak. She commenced a highly abusive harangue, 
but it was drowned in laughter and a recommenda- 
tion, in terms purely colloquial, that she should go 
home and tend any young offspring she might chance 
to have. The pro-Boers began to look disconsolate. 
Each effort they made to speak was abortive. A sailor 
jumped on the parapet opposite Morley’s Hotel and 
waved a Union Jack. The mob saw and cheered, and 
roared out the National Anthem. Some threw apples 
and oranges at the orators on the platform, who 
promptly dodged behind the Colum.n and endeavored 


126 A Traitor in London. 

to obtain a hearing on the other side, but with even 
less success. 

On losing sight of her father, Brenda wanted to try 
and follow him; and Wilfred, the patriot, although he 
hated Scarse, and would gladly have seen him ducked, 
could not but sympathize with the girl’s anxiety. So, 
extricating themselves from the crowd, they struggled 
downward toward the lower part of the square. There 
a knot of talkers attracted their attention. 

“Wot 1 say is. Why does Rhodes want to fight a 
lot of ’ard-working coves like them Boers ? ” said 
one begrimed ruffian. “ They’re the same as us, ain’t 
they?” 

“No, they ain’t,” grunted his neighbor. “They 
won’t give Englishmen votes, an’ we made their 
bloomin’ country, we did.” 

“1 ’old by Gladstone, 1 tell you ” 

“Garn! you and your Gladstone; he’d ha’ given 
away Windsor Castle if he cud.” 

“Ho! Wot price Majuba! ” 

“Ah! we must wipe out that disgrace,” said a 
clearer and apparently more highly-educated speaker. 

Then the fun began. Some abused Gladstone as 
the cause of all the trouble, others made extensive 
demands upon their vocabulary for a due definition 
of Mr. Chamberlain. It speedily became apparent 
that none of them knew what they were talking 
about. Wilfred laughed, and the begrimed one 
straightway resented his laughter. 

“We don’t want no tall ’ats ’ere,” he yelped. 

“No, you want sense,” retorted Burton. But, un- 
willing to involve Brenda in a row, he pushed on. 


127 


The Mass Meeting. 

As they passed away they heard a scuffle, and looked 
back to see that the dirty man had at last his heart’s 
desire, so far as to have found an antagonist. But 
even thus early in the game he was getting the worst 
of it. At length, having apparently had enough, he 
gave forth a lusty yell for “police,” and was duly 
rescued in a battered condition, and still arguing. 
Brenda felt anxious. The mob all round was show- 
ing signs of restiveness. 

In another part of the square some pro-Boer orators 
spoke with more chance of a hearing. They drew the 
usual picture of a small toiling community, of un- 
scrupulous capitalists, the worship of gold, the rights 
of the Boers to arrange affairs in their own house, and 
the iniquity of a mighty Empire crushing a diminu- 
tive State, wholly unable to defend itself. 

Furious at the falsehoods which he heard all around 
him, Wilfred lost his head altogether, and, despite all 
Brenda’s entreaty, got up on the parapet and raised 
his voice. 

“ Lies, lies! all lies, 1 say. All that we demand are 
equal rights for the white man and kindly treatment 
of the black. The Boer is a brutal bully. He beats 
the black man, and treats him like a dog. Kruger 
and his gang have accumulated millions through the 
industry of those to whom they refuse the franchise. 
It is they who want war, not England; and if we 
refuse their challenge, then will they try to drive us 
out of Africa. It is not the Transvaal Republic which 
is in danger, but the Empire. Continental Powers, 
who hate us, are urging these misguided people to do 
what they dare not do themselves, hoping to profit 


128 A Traitor in London. 

ddoir'placer At length the police, as in the forme^^^ 
by their folly us when We are hampered" 

in South Africa. Don’t believe these liars, men! They 
betray their own country, and a good half of them 
are paid with Transvaal gold for doing so. Spies! 
Traitors, all of them. Duck them here in the foun- 
tains.” 

Then, having thus relieved his' feelings, Wilfred 
took the girl’s hand and pushed on hurriedly; and 
soon they were lost to view in the crowd. 

But the effect of his words was immediate. The 
pro-Boer champions, trying to make good their cause, 
were not allowed speech. As quickly as they opened 
their mouths the mob shouted them down. Some 
ugly rushes were made in their direction, and they 
were hustled roughly. A couple of men and women, 
beginning to see they were in danger of being chucked, 
shouted for the police of the very Government they 
had been abusing. A body of constables forced itself 
through the crowd and formed a cordon round these 
political martyrs. They were escorted to the fringe of 
the mob, looking pale and nervous — anything, in fact, 
but heroic. And the language with which they were 
saluted was not such as need be set down here. 

Meanwhile their friends at the Column were faring 
badly enough. The police began to see that the 
temper of the mob was rising, and insisted that the 
speaking: — or rather the attempts to speak — should 
stop. The orators refused, and stuck to their plat- 
form; they were driven off from one side and they 
climbed up the other. Missiles began to fly, the 
crowd to growl, and some rough-and-tumble fights 


129 


The Mass Meeting. 




case, marched them away down Northumberland 
Avenue. The crowd which followed was so excited 
that the martyrs, afraid of the storm which, by their 
own folly, they had raised, tried to enter one of the 
hotels. But the porters here were prepared, and 
drove them back, and the wretched creatures — Scarse 
amongst them — were beaten to and fro like tennis 
balls. Finally, they managed to gain the shelter of a 
clubhouse, where they held an indignation meeting 
on their own account. But nothing on earth and 
above it would have convinced them that they had 
got just what they deserved. 

Brenda was in a great state of alarm for her father. 
But Wilfred consoled her as well as he could. “He 
will be all right,” he said cheerfully; “the police will 
look after him.” 

“ He may be hurt.” 

“ He should have thought of that before he played 
the fool. But he will not be hurt; those sort of people 
never are. I beg your pardon, Brenda. After all, he 
is your father.” 

“ He honestly believes in the Boers, Wilfred.” 

“1 know he does. He’d find out his mistake if he 
went to live amongst them. I wish I could have had 
half an hour at them, Brenda,” he said, with sparkling 
eyes. “ I would have done but for you.” 

“You said quite enough, Wilfred. I was afraid 
the police would arrest you.” 

“Arrest me! Come, that’s good, seeing I spoke for 
the Government. What about your father and his 
wretched friends who are abusing their own country ?” 

“ There are two sides to every question.” 


A Traitor in London. 


130 

“Not to this one,” replied Wilfred, who was easily 
excited on the subject. 

Brenda decided that it was best not to contradict 
him. He was so highly strung that in moments of 
this kind he was not altogether accountable either 
for his speech or actions. He would flash into a rage 
on the slightest provocation, and contradict every one 
around him, like some hysterical woman. No doctor 
could call him insane, since he knew well how to 
conduct himself, and was not the prey of any 
hallucination. But his brain was delicately balanced, 
and worry or persistent irritation brought him very 
near the borders of insanity. For this reason he led 
a quiet life, and saw but few people. The magnitude 
and whirl of London always overwrought him, and 
Brenda regretted now that she had argued with him 
at all. 

“ Have it your own way, Wilfred,” she said, taking 
his arm. “ But 1 hope my father is safe. 1 have seen 
enough, so you might take me home.” 

“All right. Don’t be angry with me, Brenda. But 
the silly views your father takes annoy me.” 

“lam not angry with you, Wilfred. Come along; 
let’s get back now.” 

“About time too,” said he. “The whole thing's 
a farce.” 

“Ah! I agree with you there, Mr. Burton,” said a 
voice, and Brenda turned with a start to find Van 
Zwieten at her elbow. “ How are you, Miss Scarse?” 
he asked quietly, as though nothing unusual had 
passed between them at their last meeting. “And 
what do you think of this silly business ?” 


The Mass Meeting. 131 

“I think it just what you call it — silly,” replied 
Brenda, coldly. “But 1 did not expect to hear you 
say so.” 

“You ought to be pleased that your friends are 
fighting your battles,” said Wilfred. 

Van Zwieten flicked a grain of dust from off his 
frock coat and raised his eyebrows. “My friends!” 
he repeated. “Oh, none of those who spoke are my 
friends, unless you refer to Mr. Scarse. But of course 
1 don’t agree with his views. 1 am an Imperialist,” 
he said smoothly. 

Remembering the disclosures he had made to her, 
Brenda was astounded at the effrontery of the man; 
but Wilfred understood. 

“Of course you are an Imperialist,” he said; “it 
pays better! ” 

“ Quite so,” assented Van Zwieten; “ it pays better 
— much better. But you talk in riddles.” 

“Do I.^ I think you can guess them then,” re- 
torted Wilfred, “and I don’t think you will find Oom 
Paul will benefit by this meeting. It will show him 
how very much of one mind the English people 
are, and how they are determined to teach him a 
lesson.” 

“Oh, a lesson, eh.?^” Van Zwieten laughed. “It 
is to be hoped Oom Paul will prove an apt pupil; but 
I fear he is too old to learn.” » 

“And Leyds — is he too old.? He pulls the 
strings! ” 

“ What strings ?” asked the Dutchman, blankly. 

“The strings to make you dance!” 

In spite of Van Zwieten’s command of his temper, 


13 ^ 


A Traitor in London. 


Wilfred was making him angry. This of itself Brenda 
did not mind in the least; but she did mind a quarrel, 
and toward that she could see these two were fast 
drifting. Moreover, owing to the raised tones of 
Wilfred's voice, a crowd was collecting. Mr. van 
Zwieten did not look altogether comfortable. He 
despised Wilfred as a mere boy; but even so, boy or 
not, this young fellow, with his fearless nature and 
frantic patriotism, might put highly undesirable no- 
tions into the heads of those around. And most of 
them were more or less inflammable just then. The 
fountains, too, were close at hand. 

“Come along, Wilfred,” said Brenda. “Do let us 
get home.” 

But before he could reply, a hubbub arose amid the 
crowd not far distant, and they turned in that direc- 
tion. From out the jeers and laughter an angry voice 
could be heard holding forth in abuse of the Govern- 
ment and in praise of the Boers. 

Then the crowd parted, surged along, and Brenda 
saw advancing a tall, thin man. He wore a snuff- 
colored coat, and a yard or so of crape wrapped round 
his throat like a scarf. And his face — how like it was 
to that of her father! 

“Oh!” she cried, grasping Wilfred’s arm, “that is 
the man who ” 

“ Hush! ” Van Zwieten whispered fiercely. “ Don’t 
accuse him in public! ” 


CHAPTER XL 


A STARTLING DISCOVERY. 

In her anxiety to solve the mystery which sur- 
rounded this man, so like her father, Brenda would, 
but for the publicity of the position, have rushed for- 
ward and questioned him. Moreover, he began at 
once to speak loudly in abuse of the Government and 
in defence of the Boer Republic. 

“It is the capitalists who want this war,” he cried 
excitedly; “Rhodes and Beit and all that gang of 
scoundrels. Chamberlain is merely playing into their 
hands. Their villainous scheme is to take the gold 
mines from these unoffending people, and they are 
prepared to massacre them in their greed for gold. 
Kruger is ” 

“Shut your mouth! ” shouted a big, scowling man, 
thrusting himself forward. “We’ll make you if you 
don't.” 

“I’m not afraid — I’m ready to stand by the truth,” 
screeched the man with the crape scarf. “1 mourn 
for England — the victim of a corrupt set of time-serv- 
ing scoundrels. 1 wear black for her. Woe to her, I 
say, and her greed for gold — woe to her vile Govern- 
ment ” 

With a fierce growl the mob flung forward. Brenda 
cried out. It was as though her father himself were 
133 


A Traitor in London. 


134 

being attacked. With a bound she placed herself be- 
fore the old man. 

“Leave him! Don’t touch him!” she cried. “He’s 
mad! ” 

“ I’m not mad,” cried the man. “ I protest against 
tyranny and the cursed greed that would destroy a na- 
tion. You crouch at the feet of those who will drain 
your blood — cowardly hounds all of you!” 

“’Ere! Let me get at ’im. Stand away, laidy!” 

“ No, no, he is old and weak. Oh, Mr. van Zwieten, 
save him.” 

Seeing an opportunity of posing as a hero at a small 
cost, the Dutchman placed the old man behind him, 
and stood between him and the mob which was clos- 
ing in. “ Leave him to me — I’ll see to him! ” 

“He’s a furriner!” yelped a small man. “Hit his 
head! ” 

“I’m a naturalized Englishman,” shouted Van 
Zwieten, “but 1 won’t let you touch this man!” 

“Woe — woe to the wicked Government who are 
about to dye their garments in the blood of a just peo- 
ple! ” shrieked the old man, waving his arms wildly. 

Then Wilfred took hold of him and hurried him 
away. “ Hold your tongue,” he said roughly. “ You’ll 
get into trouble.” 

“ 1 will seal my protest with my blood!” 

“Stand back!” shouted Van Zwieten, opposing 
those who would have followed. “ Hi, constable! ” 

“Why, it’s Van the cricketer,” cried the big man, 
joyfully. “He’s all right, boys. Seen ’im carry ’is bat 
out many a time, 1 ’ave.” 

“ Hooray for Van! ” roared the fickle crowd, and as 


A Startling Discovery. 135 

half-a-dozen policemen were pushing their way to- 
ward the centre of disturbance, it veered round to 
cheering Van Zwieten. 

“Spy! Spy! He’s a spy!” shouted a voice that 
sounded to Brenda uncommonly like Wilfred’s. 

The crowd growled again, and darted forward. 
But the police were now pushing right and left. Van 
Zwieten, who had changed color at the cry, stepped 
back and was swallowed up by the concourse of peo- 
ple. Wilfred had let the old man go, and the zealot 
was again raging, waving his crape scarf like a banner. 

Brenda, terrified at finding herself alone in the midst 
of the mob, kept close to the big Dutchman. 

Suddenly Wilfred, appearing, as it were, from no- 
where, caught her arm. 

‘ ‘ Come away ! come away ! There may be trouble, ” 
he cried, drawing her aside on to the steps by St. 
Martin’s Church. Afar off she could see Van Zwieten 
leading the old man down a side street, and the little 
band of constables fighting with the mob, who were 
now inclined to resent any interference. Brenda was 
in despair. 

“ I want to ask that old man who he is,” she cried. 
But Wilfred held her back in spite of her efforts to 
follow the Dutchman. 

“Brenda! don’t be foolish. It’s dangerous. The 
people are getting their blood up.” 

“But that old man killed Mr. Malet. I know 
who he is.” 

“ Van Zwieten will find out.” 

“I dare say,” said Brenda, tartly. “But he won’t 
tell you or me.” 


136 A Traitor in London. 

“ It’s too late now to think of that. Come up here, 
and let us get a hansom. If you got into trouble, 
Brenda, Harold would never forgive me!” 

And Brenda knew that this was so, and she guessed 
too that Wilfred was chafing under his responsibility 
for her safety. She therefore stepped into a hansom 
with him. When they were rattling along Piccadilly 
she asked him if it was he who had called out that Van 
Zwieten was a spy. 

“Yes, it was I,” admitted Wilfred, in a fiery tone. 
“And I should have liked to see the crowd go for the 
big brute.” 

“I don’t like Van Zwieten myself, as you know,” 
Brenda said; “all the same, Wilfred, it is only fair to 
say he behaved very well over that old man.” 

“He knew there was no danger, that the police 
were about. He wanted to show up as a hero in your 
eyes, Brenda. For my part, I wish he had been lynched 
for a spy. I hate the man.” 

“ People don’t lynch now in England, Wilfred.” 

“They would have done it to-day on small en- 
couragement. It was lucky for Van Zwieten that he 
is a popular cricketer, and that they recognized him as 
such. Otherwise he would not have got off so easily. 
But I’ll catch him yet! ” 

“ How you do hate him, Wilfred! ” 

“ Hate him! Of course I do. Here he is accepting 
the hospitality of England, and spying out all our weak 
points to use them against us should there be a war. 
I suspected him long ago from some words he let fall, 
and I have kept a watch on him ever since. He has 
haunted Woolwich, Portsmouth and Erith, and has 


A Startling Discovery. 137 

made friends with privates and officers alike, and he 
has half a hundred creatures at his beck and call, who 
are poking and prying about. I dare say out at Pretoria 
they know more about England and her resources than 
those here whose duty and business it is. They will 
await the right moment, then they'll strike; and unless 
I’m much mistaken they’ll strike pretty hard.” 

''But we are not unprepared, Wilfred.” 

The young man shook his head gloomily. “I my- 
self have talked with many of our officers,” he said, 
"and we are not so well armed as we should be. 
Since the Crimea, we have had no big war; and the 
number of easy victories we have had have made us 
over-confident. Of the valor of Englishmen I have no 
fear. They can fight as their fathers fought with true 
bulldog courage. But nowadays science as well as 
grit is needed for victory, and our War Office is so 
sleepy and tied up with red tape that it doesn’t keep 
our armaments up to the mark as it should do. The 
Boers are armed with the Mauser rifle. Our troops — 
but there is no need to talk technically to you, Brenda. 
I can only say that if we have a war, it won’t be the 
military promenade to Pretoria that many people ex- 
pect it to be.” 

" But the Transvaal is quite a small state, Wilfred.’' 

"I know. Still it is more than probable that the 
Orange Free State will join them. Also all over Cape 
Colony and Natal there are hordes of disloyal Dutch 
ready to rise at the first chance. Besides, Leyds is 
stirring up the Continent against us, and here Van 
Zwieten is gathering information and sending it in 
cypher to Pretoria. Oh, there’s trouble ahead, Brenda. 


138 A Traitor in London. 

The Uitlander business is only a pretext for war. If 
we don’t proclaim war, Kruger and Steyn will.” 

“ Let them. We will crush them and punish them.” 

“1 should think so,” cried Wilfred, his dark eyes 
blazing with fervor. ‘T have never any fear for Eng- 
land. Though the world were against her, she would 
conquer — all the world was against her at the end of 
the last century. But we shall have our Waterloo over 
again. God bless England! ” 

“ If there were war, Wilfred, would you go out .^” 

“As a newspaper correspondent,” he replied. “1 
have made all my arrangements with The Morning 
Planet. Oh, yes. I’ll go to the front, and if I die it will 
be for our country. Harold of course will go.” 

“1 am proud that he should — yes, even though he 
should never return — and he is all in all to me! ” 

“He could have no nobler death,” said Wilfred, 
coldly. 

“Oh, but it would be terrible, Wilfred — terrible. 
Remember I am only a woman; and it takes a great 
deal of courage ” 

“You are an Englishwoman, and Englishwomen 
are always bravest when there is danger at hand. 
Don’t cry, Brenda. I should not talk like this. My 
feelings carry me away. Let me be quiet for a time, 
or Mrs. St. Leger will be alarmed if 1 arrive in such a 
state of excitement.” 

Not another word would he speak on the way to 
Kensington, but he curled himself up in the corner of 
the cab, his eyes feverishly bright, and his face pale 
with emotion. The patriotic fire which consumed him 
was wearing out his frail body. Brenda could not un- 


A Startling Discovery. 139 

derstand this “ man with one idea.” Her love for her 
country was great, but it was not to her the one de- 
vouring passion. To Wilfred England was as a well- 
beloved woman — a creature of flesh and blood. 
Every blow levelled at her made him quiver and turn 
pale. For her sake he would willingly have died. 
He hated the Continental nations, but most of all he 
hated Van Zwieten, who was working darkly for her 
ill. If war were proclaimed, Wilfred promised himself 
that he would be in the fighting. Van Zwieten, who 
was no coward, would be there also, and if perchance 
they met, why England would be revenged if he had 
to shed his life blood to avenge her. He changed his 
mind about calling on Mrs. St. Leger, and kept the cab 
waiting while he said good-bye to Brenda at the door. 

“If you find out anything about Van Zwieten, 
you’ll let me know ? ” she entreated, as they shook 
hands. 

“Yes; but I may be a week or two preparing my 
plans. He is so infernally clever, that it will take 
a lot to trap him. But why are you so anxious to 
know about him, Brenda.?” 

“ He means harm to Harold.” 

“Nonsense. This isn’t the Dark Age. He is pow- 
erless to hurt Harold.” 

“I’m afraid he can, Wilfred! On the night of Mr. 
Malet’s murder Harold was out of doors. Mr. van 
Zwieten has more than hinted to me that he can and 
will accuse him of it! ” 

An angry fire glittered in Wilfred’s eye. “I’ll soon 
put a stop to that,” he said between his teeth. “ If I 
can prove Van Zwieten is a spy, he will have enough 


140 A Traitor in London. 

to do to look after himself without troubling about 
other people.” 

“I’m sure of that. And, Wilfred— see if you can 
find my father; and tell him to come and see me. I 
am so anxious about him.” 

“ Oh, he’s all right.” Wilfred really could not bring 
himself to be sorry for Mr. Scarse, tainted as he was 
with the heresy of Little England. 

“ I’ll call at his rooms, Brenda, and leave a message 
if you like. But I can’t see him; I might be tempted 
to tell him my mind. Good-bye.” 

He jumped into the cab so as to give Brenda no 
opportunity for further argument. It was natural 
that she should be anxious about her father. But for 
her, indeed, he would have rejoiced had the mob 
succeeded in ducking Mr. Scarse. Bad as was Van 
Zwieten, Mr. Scarse was, to his thinking, worse, for 
he was betraying his own country with his rotten 
politics. It was strange and inconceivable to Wilfred 
that a man born an Englishman should bring himself 
to abuse and condemn the very land he should have 
been proud of. 

Strangely enough, he met the object of his thoughts 
as his cab turned into Star Street. The old man, 
looking ill and unhappy, was stealing homeward, his 
eyes fixed on the ground before him. Wilfred was 
pleased to see that the failure of the meeting had gone 
home to him. He only hoped he would keep the 
memory of it by him for future guidance. The cab 
pulled up with a jerk, and he leaned out. 

“ Mr. Scarse, can 1 speak with you ? ” 

Scarse looked up irritably, and recognizing Wilfred, 


A Startling Discovery. 141 

came to the edge of the pavement. He knew the 
young man’s passion for politics, and looked but sourly 
upon him. 

“What is it ? ” 

“Brenda thinks you might have got into trouble, 
and is anxious to hear that you are safe. Please send 
her word.” 

“Thank you,” said Mr. Scarse, loftily, “there is no 
cause for alarm. I will attend to the matter. Were 
you at the meeting to-day ? ” 

“I was,” retorted Wilfred, shortly, “and I was glad 
to see it was a failure. Drive on, cabby,” and before 
the older man had recovered from his anger, the han- 
som was swinging round the corner. 

“Rude young man,” muttered Mr. Scarse, wearily 
mounting the steps to his chambers. “Never shall I 
consent to Brenda marrying his brother! ” 

In his study he poured himself out a glass of 
brandy. The events of the afternoon had tried him 
severely, and he looked older and more frail than 
ever. He was deeply mortified by the discovery that 
the popular feeling was all against the Boers, and he 
recognized that war was certain. Still he hoped that 
if England were the one to proclaim it Europe might 
intervene, and for his own part resolved to throw all 
possible obstacles in the way. Scarse was a true 
patriot. He could not have loved England more had 
he been born a German or a Frenchman! 

He lay down for an hour. The sleep refreshed him, 
and he awoke with a clearer brain. On returning to 
his study he set about writing a letter to the Press, al- 
leging that the failure of the meeting was due to a 


142 


A Traitor in London. 


Jingoistic conspiracy. While engaged on this precious 
epistle, Van Zwieten was announced, and Mr. Scarse 
came forward with outstretched hands. 

“Ah, my dear fellow! I am so glad to see you. 
What a terrible afternoon it has been! A conspiracy. 
Van Zwieten — a conspiracy! The voice of the people 
has been stifled, my dear friend.” 

“It didn’t sound like it this afternoon,” said the 
Dutchman, drily. “ They all called for war. Well, if 
they want it, they shall have it. And won’t they be 
sorry when they get it.” 

“No war — no war. I shall protest ” 

“Oh, your protests won’t do any good,” said the 
other, rudely; “the tide runs too strong for you to 
drive it back with a mop. But I didn’t come here to 
talk politics, Mr. Scarse.” 

“In that case I must ask you to go.” Mr. Scarse 
was offended. “ I have much to do.” 

“ You will have to lay it by then for the time being. 

I called to tell you that I met a friend of your? to-day 
— yes, at the meeting.” 

“Who.?” 

“That is what I want to hear from your lips. I 
know who he is from his own. He wears a yellow 
coat and a crape scarf.” 

Mr. Scarse’s face became grey, and he fell against the 
wall with staring eyes and extended hands. “ I don’t 
know him — I assure you I don’t! ” he said hoarsely. 

“ I think you do. He is the man who was in your 
study at Chippingholt on the night of the murder — the 
man whom you sent away by train. In a word, Mr. 
Scarse, he is your brother — your twin brother! ” 


CHAPTER XII. 


A STORY OF THE PAST. 

The old man sprang up with the light of fury in his 
pale eyes and flung himself on Van Zwieten. For an 
instant he was more than a match for the big Dutch- 
man. 

“ How dare you — I have no brother,” he gasped. 
Then as suddenly this strength, born of anger, went 
out of him, and he became weak as a child. Van 
Zwieten picked him up like a baby and flung him 
roughly into a chair. 

“Sit there,” he said sternly. “I mean to know the 
whole of this story,” and he busied himself lighting 
the lamp. 

“ There is — no— no story.” 

“There is, and, what’s more, you will tell it to me.” 

“I won’t,” cried Mr. Scarse, shivering and for- 
getting his previous denial. “You can’t force me to 
speak.” 

“I can — I will,” said the Dutchman, grimly. Then, 
the lamp being lighted, he sat down in an armchair on 
the other side of the fireplace opposite to his host and 
produced a cigar. “ Begin, please.” 

Scarse staggered to his feet — he was shaken by his 
own nerves and Van Zwieten’s rough treatment— and 
moved slowly toward the door. The Dutchman rose 
and ran past him with a lightness and speed surpris- 
143 


144 


A Traitor in London. 


ing in so heavy a man. He reached the’door before 
Mr. Scarse did. The next moment it was locked and 
the key in Van Zwieten’s pocket. “Go back to your 
seat, please,” said Van Zwieten, politely. 

“1 won't — 1 am master here,” cried the old man, his 
voice shrill with anger. “What do you' mean by 
treating me like this ? I’ll call the police.” 

The Dutchman pulled out the key and held it toward 
Scarse. “ As you please,” he said with a sneer. “Call 
the police and I’ll give you in charge.” 

“Give me in charge, you villain! — for what?” 

“For murdering Gilbert Malet. Aha, my dear 
friend, you did not count on my knowing that, did 
you ? You are quite unaware that 1 followed you from 
your cottage into the orchards, where you ” 

“I did not — I did not!” wailed Scarse, shrinking 
back. 

“No, you did not,” retorted Van Zwieten, “but you 
were near the spot where Malet was killed, and near 
it about the time he was shot. You will find it diffi- 
cult to refute my evidence if 1 am compelled to give it. 
On the whole, Mr. Stuart Scarse, I think you had better 
sit down and talk sensibly.” 

Scarse glared like an angry cat. But physically and 
morally the Dutchman was too much for him. With 
an attempt at dignity he returned to his seat. 

“1 am at a loss to understand this extraordinary be- 
havior, Mr. Van Zwieten,” he said, in his most stately 
manner, “ and I deny the shameful accusation you have 
made. Perhaps you will be kind enough to apologize 
and leave my rooms.” 

“ My dear friend, 1 shall do neither.” Van Zwieten 


A Story of the Past. 145 

carefully lighted his cigar, “lam waiting to hear the 
story.” 

“What story.?*” asked the other, willfully misunder- 
standing. 

“The story about your brother and his visit to 
Chippingholt — to murder our dear friend. I know 
some of it from your brother, but ” 

“I have no brother, I tell you! ” 

“Oh, yes, I think so. A twin brother named — 
Robert — Robert Scarse.” 

“ He is dead to me.” 

“Ah, that is quite another thing. He has come to 
life for the purpose of throwing some light on this 
mystery. Indeed, I think you had better tell me why 
he murdered Gilbert Malet.” 

“ He did not murder him.” 

“Oh, yes, he did; and I should like to have details, 
please — his motive and all that.” 

“ I refuse to give them to you.” 

Van Zwieten rose and buttoned his coat. “Very 
good,” said he; “then I shall see a magistrate and tell 
him all I know.” 

“What do you know ? ” 

“Sufficient to have Robert arrested for the murder, 
and you as his accomplice.” 

Mr. Scarse shivered again, and bit his lip. Then he 
seemed to make up his mind. 

“Sit down. Don’t be in a hurry. I will tell you 
all I can. Of course you will keep secret what I tell 
you.” 

“Of course! I never talk without good reason. So 
you have a twin brother ?” 


146 A Traitor in London. 

“Yes; Robert. He is— he— he is not in his right 
mind.” 

“ So I should think from his talk and his extraordi- 
nary apparel. A black crape scarf is quite original. 
By the way, your daughter saw him to-day.” 

“Brenda.?” cried Scarse, horrified. “Then she 
knows ” 

“Nothing — except that Robert is wonderfully like 
you. 1 got him away before she could speak to him. 
This 1 did for your sake — and my own! ” 

“You wish to make quite sure of getting Brenda — 
to force me! ” 

“Not exactly that,” smiled Van Zwieten, “since 
I know that you are already quite willing she should 
marry me. But 1 wish to use the knowledge to force 
her into giving up Burton and becoming my wife.” 

“You would tell her of Robert’s existence?” 

“Not if 1 could help myself,” said the Dutchman, 
politely. “Believe me, my dear friend, I am very dis- 
creet. You can safely confide in me.” 

“It seems I am forced to,” grumbled Mr. Scarse, 
ungraciously. “What is it you particularly wish to 
know?” 

“The whole story about your brother, and why you 
deny him. I am sure it will be most interesting. Go 
on, please, I am waiting.” 

Mr. Scarse looked at his tyrant savagely. He would 
dearly have liked to refuse, but he realized that he was 
on perilous ground. Van Zwieten knew just enough 
to be dangerous. He must not be allowed to make 
use of his knowledge, even if he had to be told more. 
Besides, Mr. Scarse was satisfied that for Brenda’s sake 


A Story of the Past. 147 

he would keep quiet. Therefore he made a virtue of 
necessity and launched at once into a family history, 
of which in no other circumstances would he have 
spoken to any living soul. It was the very fact of the 
Dutchman’s having it in his power to force his confi- 
dence that angered him. No man likes to be coerced. 

“ 1 don’t think the story will interest you much,” he 
said, sulkily; “but such as it is, 1 will relate it. Robert 
Scarse is my twin brother, and is as like me as it is 
possible for one man to be like another. His appear- 
ance deceived young Burton and the Chippingholt 
folk.” 

“1 know they took him for you. And on account 
of that scarf they paid you the compliment of thinking 
you were out of your mind.” 

Mr. Scarse shrugged his shoulders. “ As if I cared,” 
he said contemptuously. “ My speeches in the House 
prove that I am sane enough. Well, Robert is my 
brother, and I was — I am — very fond of him. My 
sister Julia — Mrs. St. Leger, you know — never liked 
him, and when we cast him off she made up her mind 
to regard him as dead. She never even admits that 
she has a brother. 1 am her only relative — at least the 
only one she acknowledges.” 

“And why, pray, was Robert cast off thus, and by 
his affectionate twin ?” 

“Don’t be sarcastic. Van Zwieten, it does not suit 
you,” snapped Scarse. “My brother was a bad lot. 
At school and college he led the authorities a devil of 
a dance until he was expelled. When he came to 
London he took to gambling and drinking. 1 was 
never like that. My one desire was to get into Parlia- 


A Traitor in London. 


148 

ment, where my father had been before me, and serve 
my country. My sister married St. Leger — he was a 
subaltern then — and went out to India. My mother 
died, and there was no one to check Robert’s pranks. 
My father paid his debts so often that we became 
quite impoverished. That is why I am so poor." 

“Are you poor?" asked Van Zwieten, thinking re- 
gretfully that Brenda — sweet as she was — would have 
no dowry. 

“As poor as a church mouse. 1 married a woman 
with six hundred a year, and out of that Brenda has 
two hundred a year. 1 can’t touch it. What with the 
other four hundred and my own money I have but a 
thousand a year all told — little enough for a man of 
my position. Of course, when I die, my thousand a 
year will go to Brenda." 

“Ah!" said Van Zwieten, with much satisfaction. 
He was sufficiently Dutch to be very fond of money. 

“ You needn’t look so pleased. Van Zwieten. Even 
if you do marry Brenda — which I doubt since she 
hates you so — you won’t get my money. I’ll live a 
long time yet, and, in any case. I’ll settle it on her so 
that her husband— whoever he may be — can’t touch it." 

“ Quite right, Mr. Scarse. But about Robert ? Please 
go on.” 

“Well, Robert crowned his pranks by committing 
forgery, and my father had to pay 1 don’t know how 
many thousands to hush the matter up. You can 
make no use of this admission, Mr. van Zwieten, since 
the man whose name was forged died long ago and 
the papers are all destroyed. Robert went abroad 
after that, and my father cut him off with a shilling. 


149 


A Story of the Past. 

He forbade his name to be mentioned, and declared 
he was no son of his. Mrs. St. Leger acted in the 
same way, and I followed suit. 1 could do nothing 
else — if I had, my father would have disinherited me." 

“ Most affectionate twin! " 

“Don’t talk like that," cried Mr. Scarse, angrily. 
“Who are you to judge me? 1 still love my brother 
— after all, he is my own flesh and blood, and nearer 
and dearer to me than it is possible for you to imagine. 
But he is supposed to be dead these thirty and more 
years, and why should 1 bring him forth into the 
world only to be disgraced ? I allow him a small in- 
come, and under another name he is as happy as ever 
he will be. By the way," he broke off suddenly, 
“ how did you find out his real name?" 

“Oh, 1 saw the resemblance and made use of my 
knowledge of his being in Chippingholt to force him 
into confessing the truth. 1 will tell you about that 
later on. Go on with your story, which is truly 
remarkable.” 

“Truly criminal, I think," Mr. Scarse said gloomily; 
“ a nice family history for a sedate English gentleman 
to have. 1 wonder what my constituents would say 
if they heard it? Ah, there is a skeleton in every 
house. In a way it is a relief to me to talk of it even 
to you. Van Zwieten. Mrs. St. Leger will never men- 
tion or listen to the subject." 

“Well, well, my friend," — Van Zwieten was be- 
coming impatient of this digression,— “ what did your 
brother do when he was cut off from his family ?” 

“You’ll never believe it when I tell you. Strange 
to say, he mended his ways. On the Continent — in 


1^0 


A Traitor in London. 


Switzerland, I fancy — he came into contact with some 
Socialists and inbibed their ideas. He put away all his 
fine clothes and extravagant tastes and became quite 
humble and simple.” 

“Because he had no money to do otherwise.” 

“There is something in that. Well, he lived among 
these Socialists for many a long year. He went to 
Russia and saw Tolstoi, knew Karl Marx, and threw 
himself headlong into schemes whereby the human 
race was to be saved by all manner of devices, having 
as their basis the equitable division of property. Then 
he married a young girl — a Swiss, the daughter of one 
of his socialistic friends — and returned to England. 
He was poor, so I helped him.” 

“Out of your poverty!— how noble!” sneered Van 
Zwieten, lighting a fresh cigar. 

“Oh, 1 was richer then. 1 was married and my 
wife had money. Then she died a few years after 
Brenda was born, and I put the child to school as soon 
as she was of an age. She was brought up away 
from me,” he went on sadly; “that is why 1 have 
such small influence over her.” 

“You will have influence enough to make her marry 
me, my friend.” 

“1 doubt it — I doubt it. Well, my brother lived in 
a poor way, having but little money, besides which, 
his ideas were all against luxury. His wife was beau- 
tiful and frivolous and had no love for him. She 
coveted money and position, neither of which he 
could give her, and would not if he could. That was 
ten years ago.” 

“Ah! and what happened then?” 


A Story of the Past. 151 

“ My brother’s wife met Malet. He was handsome, 
rich, and a scoundrel, and he ran away with her." 

Van Zwieten appeared astonished. “ He wasn't 
then married to Lady Jenny.?” 

“No, he married Lady jenny later. But he ran off 
with my brother’s wife to Italy. And the shock of 
his wife’s treachery gave poor Robert brain fever." 

“ He loved her then ?’’ 

“He worshipped her. She was his life — hp lived 
only to make her happy. Well, he had his recom- 
pense! She deceived him, deserted him. Without a 
word she eloped with that scoundrel. Robert lost his 
reason, and I had to put him in an asylum. There he 
was for two years. When he came out he went in 
search of his wife, for he still loved her. Malet by 
that time had come back alone, and shortly afterward 
he married Lady jenny. The reptile! do you wonder 
that I hated him ? For Robert’s sake I saw him and 
forced him to tell the truth. I threatened to inform 
his wife of his past if he did not." 

“But all that was before the marriage. No woman 
would care if ’’ 

“ Lady jenny would. She is half Italian and of an 
extremely jealous disposition. She loved Malet — God 
only knows why — and had she found out the truth 
then she would have left him. But Malet told me 
where to find my brother’s wife, and I held my tongue." 

“ Did Lady jenny ever learn this story .?’’ 

“You shall hear. Robert found his wife and took 
her back. She was a complete wreck and terribly un- 
happy. They lived at Poplar under another name on 
the small income I could allow them. For years I saw 


1^2 A Traitor in London. 

very little of Robert. Then he took it into his head to 
pose as a prophet of evil, predicting woe to England. 
He assumed that snuflf-colored coat and wore the crape 
scarf as a symbol of his mourning. He was frequently 
in trouble with the police, and several times 1 helped 
him out of his scrapes." 

“Why don’t you shut him up again ?” 

“Ah! my friend, how could 1 take the poor fellow 
from his dying wife.? All those years she was bed- 
ridden and dying slowly. 1 could not part them. 
Latterly he used to come now and again to see me 
at Chippingholt, usually at night and in ordinary dress. 
On one occasion he arrived in the daytime and met 
Lady Jenny. He knew her by sight, and he told her 
the truth about his wife and her husband. That was 
a year ago. Lady jenny was furious, and 1 believe 
she quarrelled with her husband. After that they 
were never the same to one another. She loved him 
once, but after that she must have hated him. Robert 
was foolish to have told her. It could do no good." 

“ Well — what then .?" 

“He went away, and for months 1 saw nothing of 
him. The next 1 heard was when Brenda told me 
Harold Burton had met a man like me with a crape 
scarf round his neck. From the description 1 recog- 
nized Robert, and knew that his mind must be more 
than ever unhinged for him to have come down in 
what he called his prophetic robes. 1 knew he would 
not come to see me till dusk, and 1 waited anxiously. 
But he did not appear, so 1 went out to look for him. 
It struck me that he might be lurking round the 
Manor gates to see Gilbert Malet, and perhaps to do 


153 


A Story of the Past. 

him an injury. I searched for a long time, and was 
caught in the storm. Then I found Robert in the 
orchards and led him home. He told me his news.” 

“ What was his news ? ” 

“ His wife was dead, and he had come to tell Malet.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THE END OF THE STORY. 

“His wife was dead,” repeated Van Zwieten, with- 
out showing much sympathy, “ and he came down to 
tell you!” 

“No, he came to tell Malet.” 

“And kill him?” 

Scarse shook his head. “lam telling you the truth,” 
he said. “If Robert were guilty I should admit it. 
The poor fellow is crazy, as you know, and at the 
worst can only be put away in an asylum again. I 
am not afraid for him, but I fear a public scandal, 
which might shake my position and force me to 
resign my seat. No, Robert did not kill the man. 
But he met him and told him the truth.” 

“About what hour was that?” 

“Shortly after nine o’clock. I met Robert wander- 
ing in the orchards at a quarter past, and I took him 
home with me. Malet, according to the doctor’s evi- 
dence, was shot about half-past nine. At that time 
Robert was conversing with me in my study.” 

“But he met Malet,” insisted Van Zwieten, rather 
disappointed at this statement, which he had every 
reason to believe was true. 

“Yes, he met Malet, and told him that his victim 
was dead. Malet grossly insulted Robert, and there 
was a quarrel. Unable to restrain his anger, Robert 
154 


The End of the Story. 155 

threw himself on Malet, but being an old man and 
feeble, he was easily overpowered and thrown to the 
ground. Robert told me this, and 1 believe it is the 
truth, because 1 found his crape scarf was torn — no 
doubt in the struggle. Malet left him lying on the 
wet grass and went off. He must have been shot 
almost immediately afterward.” 

“By whom.^” asked Van Zwieten, keenly. 

“Ah! that is the question. I have my suspicions, 
but 1 may be wrong. But when Brenda came home 
with the news of a murder I guessed that the victim 
was Malet. The servants came to my study door and 
found it locked. Robert was with me then, and I had 
locked the door because I did not want him to be 
seen. They thought it was you 1 was talking to, and 
I said it was you. When afterward you came in by 
the front door they knew, of course, that I had lied. 
Brenda asked me about that, and I still declared that 
you had been with me, but that you had gone out of 
the study window to the front door. I told her also 
that 1 was the man seen by Harold Burton.” 

“Why did you do that.?” 

“Can’t you guess.? To save Robert. He had a 
grievance against Malet, he had been struggling with 
him, and there was every chance that he might be 
accused of the murder. There was only my evidence 
to prove his alihi, and as I was his brother 1 dreaded 
lest my word should be insufficient. While the serv- 
ants were with Brenda in the kitchen 1 went back to 
my study, put a coat of my own on Robert, and 
gave him a soft hat to pull down over his eyes. 
Then I gave him money, and told him to catch 


ij;6 A Traitor in London. 

the ten-thirty train from Chippingholt to Langton 
Junction.” 

“Which he did,” said Van Zwieten. “I was watch- 
ing all that business through your study window. I 
followed Robert, wondering who he was, and watched 
him go off by the train. Then 1 came home to the 
house and was admitted, as you know.” 

“ Why did you not speak to me ?” 

“It was not the proper moment to speak. 1 did 
not know who Robert was, and until 1 entered the 
house I knew nothing about the murder. 1 also 
guessed the victim was Malet, and 1 thought you 
must have hired this man to kill him, and having 
finished with him, had got him safely out of the 
way.” 

“Ah! you were anxious to trap me!” cried Mr. 
Scarse, angrily. “Well, you know the truth now, 
and you can do nothing. I burned the crape scarf and 
1 told Brenda I was the man Harold had seen. If you 
choose to make a scandal, I shall tell my story exactly 
as I have told it to you, and prove Robert’s innocence. 
At the worst he can only be put under restraint 
again.” 

“I don’t wish to make any scandal,” said the 
• Dutchman, mildly, “more especially seeing that your 
daughter is to be my wife. You can rely on my 
silence if only on that account. But I’m glad I have 
heard this story now. I want to know who killed 
Malet.” 

“That I can’t say,” said Mr. Scarse, gloomily. “ But 
I suspect the wife! ” 

‘ ‘ Lady Jenny !— and why ? ” 


157 


The End of the Story. 

“Robert had a note written to her saying his wife 
was dead — he brought it with him. He sent it up to 
her by a boy that same evening. Of course the boy 
thought that Robert was me.” 

“ I see! ” cried Van Zwieten, with a shout. “ Robert 
wanted to stir up Lady Jenny into killing her husband. 
He is not so crazy, to my thinking. But I don’t see 
how the intelligence of the wife’s death would achieve 
it,” he added, shaking his head gravely. “Lady 
Jenny knew all about the matter, and hadn’t harmed 
her husband. There was no reason why she should do 
it on that particular night.” 

“That is what puzzles me,” replied Mr. Scarse. 
“ Lady Jenny was out on that night. She did not go 
to the Rectory to see Captain Burton as she had in- 
tended. For that she gave the very unsatisfactory 
reason that she was caught in the storm. Is it not 
probable that she met her husband and killed him ?” 

“No. She would not carry a revolver. If they 
had already met and quarrelled about this dead 
woman, then it is possible she might in her jealous 
rage have made an attack upon her husband with any- 
thing to her hand. But a revolver would argue de- 
liberation, and there was nothing sufficiently strong in 
the note your brother had prepared for her to urge her 
to deliberate murder.” 

“Burton found a piece of crape in the dead man’s 
hand,” argued Scarse, “and Lady Jenny was wearing 
crape for her father. There might have been a 
struggle, and the piece might have come off in his 
hand.” 

“Nonsense, Scarse. Ladies don’t do that sort of 


158 A Traitor in London. 

thing. Besides, your brother wore crape too, and it 
is more likely that it was torn from his scarf. Malet 
might have kept it in his hand, without being con- 
scious of it probably, when he went to his death.” 

‘'Then you think Lady Jenny is innocent?” 

“It looks like it,” Van Zwieten said with a queer 
smile; “but I’ll let you know my opinion later on,” 
and he rose to go. 

“You will keep my secret,” entreated Scarse, fol- 
lowing his visitor to the door. 

“Assuredly. I can make no use of it. I thought 
to find your brother guilty, but it seems he is not. 
The mystery deepens.” 

“But Lady Jenny?” 

“True — Lady Jenny. Well, we shall see,” and 
with this enigmatic speech the Dutchman withdrew. 
Mr. Scarse went back to his chair, and until midnight 
sat looking drearily into the fire. But he was suffi- 
ciently thoughtful to send a letter to Brenda telling 
her of his safety in spite of the Trafalgar Square 
mob. 

For the next few days he went about like a man in 
a dream. Although he knew very well that Van 
Zwieten would hold his tongue — for he had nothing 
to gain by wagging it — he blamed himself for having 
been coerced into a confession. To him the Dutch- 
man was almost a stranger. He had been drawn to 
the man because he was going out to the Transvaal as 
an official, and Mr. Scarse had always sympathized 
with the little state in its struggle for independence. 
The Dutchman had drawn so pathetic a picture of 
that struggle, had spoken so feelingly of the Boers as 


159 


The End of the Story. 

a patriarchal people who desired only to be left 
tending their flocks and herds, that the English 
politician was touched. He had sworn to do all in 
his power to defend this simple people, had become 
extremely friendly with Van Zwieten, and in proof 
of that friendship had asked him down to Chipping- 
holt. There the Dutchman, by spying and question- 
ing, had learned so much of his family secrets as to 
have become his master. As such he had forced him 
into a confession, and Mr. Scarse felt — if a scandal 
was to be avoided — that he was at the man’s mercy. 

Of course Brenda would be the price of his silence. 
Formerly Scarse had been willing enough that his 
daughter should marry Van Zwieten. It would be a 
noble work for her to aid him to build up a new state 
in South Africa. But now he saw that the Dutchman 
was by no means the unselfish philanthropist he had 
supposed him to be. He was tricky and shifty. His 
was the iron hand in the velvet glove, and if he be- 
came Brenda’s husband it was by no means improb- 
able that he would ill-treat her. It did not seem right 
to force her into this marriage when she loved another 
man. After all, she was his daughter — his only 
daughter; and Scarse’s paternal instinct awoke even 
thus late in the day to prompt him to protect and 
cherish her. If he felt for poor Robert and his woes, 
surely he could feel for the troubles of Brenda. 

Musing thus, it occurred to him that he might 
frustrate any probable schemes of Van Zwieten by 
telling the whole truth to Brenda. Then let her marry 
Harold and defy the man. At all events he determined 
that Brenda should be introduced to the family skele- 


i6o A Traitor in London. 

ton, and accordingly one afternoon he drove to 
Kensington. Mrs. St. Leger was out, so was the 
colonel, and he found his daughter alone. 

When he entered — for all the world like an old 
grey wolf — for his troubles had aged him — Brenda 
came forward with a look of astonishment in her eyes. 
Usually her father was not so attentive as to pay her 
a visit; and she could not conjecture the meaning of 
the tender expression on his face. As a matter of 
fact Mr. Scarse was realizing for the first time that 
this tall, beautiful girl was his daughter. But she 
could not divine this, and her welcome to him was, as 
usual, quite cold. 

“ How are you, father?” she said, kissing him in a 
conventional way. “I am glad to see you, but I ex- 
pected Harold, and was quite astonished when you 
came in.” 

“And disappointed too, I suppose,” said Scarse, in 
a low voice. 

Something in his tone struck her sensitive ear as 
unusual. “No, I am glad to see you,” she repeated, 
“but — but — but, you know, father, there was never 
much love lost between us.” 

“ Ah, Brenda, I fear that too much love has been 
lost. I wish to speak openly and seriously to you, 
Brenda” — he looked at her piteously — “but 1 don’t 
know how to begin.” 

“ Are you not well, father ? ” 

“ Yes, yes, I am quite well,” he replied, leaning on 
her shoulder as she led him to the sofa. “ But I’m 
worried, dear, worried. Sit down here.” 

“ Worried — what about?” She sat down, but 


The End of the Story. i6i 

could not as yet grasp the situation. It was so novel, 
so unexpected. 

“About you — about myself. My dear, I have not 
been a good father to you.” 

Brenda stared. Were the heavens going to fall ? 
So astonished was she by this wholly unexpected 
show of tenderness that she could make no answer. 
He looked at her anxiously and continued, “I fear 
I have been so engrossed by my duty to my country 
that I have forgotten my duty to you, my child. I 
should not have left you so long at school away from 
me. No wonder you have so little affection for me. I 
am not much more than a name to you. But 1 see now 
how wrong I have been, Brenda dear, and I want to do 
my best to make amends to you. You will let me ? ” 

“Father!” she cried, all her warm and generous 
heart going out to him in his penitence. She threw 
her arms round his neck. “Don’t say any more, 
dear. I have to ask your forgiveness too, for I have 
not been all a daughter should be to you.” 

“Ah, Brenda, it is my fault. I kept you from me. 
But that shall not be now, dear. I have found my 
daughter and I will keep her. Kiss me, Brenda.” 

She kissed him, and her eyes filled with tears. In 
that moment of joy in finding her father she forgot 
even Harold. These words of tenderness were balm 
to her aching heart, and, too deeply moved to speak, 
she wept on his shoulder. Henceforth she would be 
different — everything would be different. And the 
man himself was scarcely less moved. 

“ How foolish I have been, Brenda. I have lost the 
substance for the shadow.” 


i 62 


A Traitor in London. 


“ No, no, father. I love you. I have always loved 
you. But 1 thought you did not care for me.” 

1 care for you now, Brenda. Hush, hush, do not 
cry, child.” 

“You won’t ask me to marry Mr. van Zwieten now, 
father?” 

“No,” replied he, vigorously. “1 intend to have 
nothing further to do with that man.” 

“Ah!” she exclaimed, raising her head. “At last 
you have found him out!” 

“No, dear, I have not exactly found him out, but I 
have come to the conclusion that he is double-dealing 
and dangerous. You shall not marry him, Brenda. 
You love Harold, and Harold shall be your husband. 
But I must not lose my daughter,” he added ten- 
derly. 

“ You shall not, father. You shall gain a son. Oh, 
how happy I am!” and laying her head upon his 
shoulder she wept tears of pure joy. 

For some moments he did not speak, but held her to 
him closely. He, too, was happy — had not felt so 
happy for years. How he regretted now having kept 
this warm, pure affection at arm’s length for so long. 
But time was passing, and Mrs. St. Leger and the 
colonel might be back at any moment, and he had 
much to tell her. 

“Listen to me, Brenda dear,” he said, raising her 
head gently. “ Do you remember the man so like me 
whom Harold saw ?” 

“The man with the crape scarf? Of course I re- 
member him, father.” She looked steadfastly at him, 
expecting a revelation since he had so unexpectedly 


introduced the subject. ‘M saw him in Trafalgar 
Square on the day of the meeting.” 

“ And you knew that it was not me ? ” 

'‘Yes; but he was so like you, that had he not been 
on the platform 1 might easily have mistaken him for 
you, like Harold did.” 

“Had you spoken to him you would have found 
out your mistake,” sighed Scarse. 

“ 1 wanted to, but Mr. van Zwieten took him away.” 

“1 know — 1 know. Brenda, 1 deceived you about 
that man for your own sake and for mine. I took 
his sins on my shoulders that he might not get into 
trouble.” 

“What.^” Brenda’s voice rose almost to a shriek. 
“Did he kill Mr. Malet?” 

“No, no,” replied her father, eagerly. “1 can prove 
to you that he did not. But, Brenda, do you not 
wonder why he is so like me, and why 1 take so deep 
an interest in him ?” 

“1 do wonder. 1 thought he might be a relative. 
But you denied it, and Aunt Julia said she had no rela- 
tive but you.” 

Mr. Scarse drooped his head. “Julia? Ah, she is 
still bitter against poor Robert! ” 

“ Robert ? — who is he ?” 

“My twin brother, Brenda — your uncle!” 

“Oh!” Brenda threw up her hands in surprise. 
“And 1 never knew.” 

“No one knows but your aunt and myself, and she 
denies him— and Van Zwieten knows.” 

“Oh, father! How can he know?” 

“1 told him,” replied Mr. Scarse, quietly. “I was 


164 A Traitor in London. 

forced to tell him, lest he should imagine the truth to 
be worse than it is. And he might have got me into 
trouble — and not only me, but poor, mad Robert.” 

“Mad! Is my uncle mad ?” 

“Yes, poor soul. Now I will tell you what made 
him mad — the same story that I was forced to tell Van 
Zwieten.” 

Brenda looked anxiously at her father and placed her 
hand in his. Grasping it hard, he related the sad family 
history he had told the Dutchman, suppressing noth- 
ing, extenuating nothing. Brenda listened in profound 
silence. At times her eyes flashed, at times she wept, 
but never a word did she say. When her father had 
finished her sorrow burst forth. 

“My dear father, how good you are! To think I 
have been such a bad daughter, and you with all this 
worry on you! Oh, forgive me, forgive me! ” and she 
threw herself sobbing into his arms. 

“My dear, there is nothing to forgive. I have told 
you why I bore this trouble in silence — why I told Van 
Zwieten.” 

“Thank God you don’t want me to marry him,” 
sobbed Brenda. “ Harold and I are going to be mar- 
ried quietly at Brighton.” 

“Better wait a while yet,” said Scarse, nervously; 
“it will drive Van Zwieten into a corner if you 
marry now, and you don’t know what he may do 
then.” 

“ He can’t do anything, father. If he does attempt 
it 1 have only to tell Lady Jenny; she can manage him. 
Harold has gone to see her about it.” 

Somewhat astonished at this, Scarse was about to 


The End of the Story. 165 

ask what way Lady Jenny could control Van Zwieten 
when the door opened and Captain Burton walked in, 
looking considerably more cheerful than when Brenda 
had seen him last. He pulled up short at the amazing 
sight of the girl in her father’s arms. 

** Harold!” she exclaimed. “Oh, how glad 1 am 
you have come! I have so much to tell you; and 
father — father ” 

“Father has just discovered that he has a dear 
daughter,” said Scarse, holding out his hand to the 
astounded young man. “Yes, Harold, and 1 consent 
to your marriage gladly.” 

“But what about Van Zwieten.?” gasped Captain 
Burton, utterly at a loss to understand this sudden 
change of front. 

“He shall never marry Brenda. I’ll tell you all 
about it.” 

“ Wait one minute, father,” cried the girl. “ Harold, 
did you see Lady jenny?” 

“Yes, Brenda, I have seen her. It is all right; she 
can manage Van Zwieten. No, I won’t tell you now. 
She particularly wishes to do that herself.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


WHAT VAN ZWIETEN KNEW. 

The clever criminal who wishes to escape the law 
does not seek provincial neighborhoods or foreign 
climes. He remains in London; for him no place is so 
safe. There a man can disappear from one district and 
reappear in another without danger of recognition by 
unwelcome friends. Of course the pertinacity of the 
police may do much to complicate matters, but the 
history of crime goes to show very clearly that they 
are by no means infallible. But about them Van 
Zwieten troubled himself very little. Certainly he 
changed his name to Jones, for his own, in those anti- 
Dutch times, smacked overmuch of Holland. But for 
the rest his disguise was slight. From St. James’s he 
changed his address to a part of Westminster where 
none of his West End friends were likely to come 
across him; and as Mr. Jones he carried on his plotting 
against the Empire with every sense of security. And 
in such security he saw only a strong proof of John 
Bull’s stupidity. An Englishman would have seen in 
it a glorious example of freedom. 

In a side street Van Zwieten, alias Mr. Jones, dwelt 
on the first floor of a quiet house let out in lodgings 
by the quietest of widows. .And Mrs. Hicks had a 
good opinion of her lodger. It is true he was some- 
what erratic in his movements. For days he would go 
166 


What Van Zwieten Knew. 167 

away — into the country, he said — and even when in 
town would be absent for many hours at a stretch. 
But he paid well and regularly, was not exacting about 
either his food or attendance, and behaved altogether 
in the most becoming manner. He certainly saw a 
great number of people, and they called on him prin- 
cipally at night, but Mr. Jones had kindly informed her 
how he was writing a great book on London, and how 
these people were gathering materials for him. Had 
Mrs. Hicks known the kind of materials they were 
collecting, she might or might not have been astonished. 
Certainly she would have been but little the wiser. 

A decent, if narrow-minded little person, Mrs. Hicks 
knew little of politics and still less of spies. These 
latter — on those few occasions when they had pre- 
sented themselves to her mind — she pictured as foreign 
persons given to meeting by candlelight with mask 
and cloaks and daggers. That the kind gentleman 
who was so polite to her and so kind to her fatherless 
children should be a spy assuredly never entered Mrs. 
Hick’s head. 

Van Zwieten — it is more convenient to call him so — 
sat in his rooms one night in the second week in 
October. His face wore a satisfied smile, for a great 
event had taken place. Free State and Transvaal, 
under the sapient guidance of their Presidents, had 
thrown down the gage of defiance to England, and 
the Federal armies were overrunning Natal. Scarse 
and his following were dreadfully shocked at this 
sample of simplicity on the part of their “innocent 
lamb.” It was all out of keeping with Mr. Kruger’s 
pacific intentions as extolled by them. Indeed, they 


i68 


A Traitor in London. 


found it necessitated a change of tactics on their part, 
so they right-about faced and deplored that war should 
thus have been forced on an honest, God-fearing man. 
In all sincerity they tried to divide the country on the 
question of the war; and in Brussels Leyds was doing 
his best to hound on the Continental Powers to attack- 
ing England. Altogether Van Zwieten was very well 
satisfied with the outlook. What with the unprepared 
state of the British in Natal, Leyds on the Continent, 
Scarse and his friends in London, it seemed as though 
the Boers, by treachery and cunning and the due dis- 
play of armament — as formidable as it was wholly 
unlooked for — would come safely out of the desperate 
adventure to which they had committed themselves. 
Van Zwieten’s part was to send off certain final infor- 
mation to Leyds for transmission to Pretoria, and then 
to leave England. 

But Van Zwieten was not going out to fight for his 
adopted country. Oh, dear, no! He had ostensibly 
thrown up his appointment in the Transvaal — which 
in truth he had never held — in great indignation before 
the war began. Proclaiming himself as a neutral per- 
son anxious to reconcile the English and the Boers, he 
had solicited and obtained the post of war corre- 
spondent on a Little England newspaper called The 
Morning Planet. This paper, whose columns were 
filled with the hysterical hooting of Scarse and his 
friends, was only too glad to employ a foreigner in- 
stead of an Englishman, and Van Zwieten received 
good pay, and an order to go to the front at once. 

Now he was occupied in burning a mass of papers, 
gathering up the loose ends of his. innumerable, con- 


What Van Zwieten Knew. 169 

spiracies, and looking forward to a speedy departure. 
All his spies had been paid and dismissed. He had 
one more letter to despatch to the patriotic Leyds, and 
then he was free to turn his attention to his private 
affairs. 

These were concerned chiefly with an attempt to 
force Brenda into giving up Burton and accepting his 
hand, by threatening to denounce her father and his 
brother. He had never for a moment intended to 
keep the promise he had made to Scarse. He was 
too “slim " for that. He possessed knowledge which 
would serve him to his own ends, and he intended to 
use it for that purpose. Burton, too, was to leave 
with his regiment next day, and was already at South- 
ampton. And once he was parted from Brenda there 
would be a better chance of bringing her to see rea- 
son. Van Zwieten smiled sweetly as he thought on 
these things, and gave himself up to the contemplation 
of that rosy future when the Republics conquered 
England, as they assuredly would. He forgot that 
very significant saying that man proposes and God 
disposes. But Van Zwieten was a heathen, and had 
very little belief in an overruling Providence. 

He knew how to make himself snug did this 
Dutchman. His room was large, and comfortably if 
not luxuriously furnished. Wall paper, carpet and 
curtains were all of a dark green tone. Two win- 
dows led on to a light iron balcony, but at present 
these were closed and the curtains were drawn. The 
firelight— he had lighted a fire because the evening was 
chilly— shed its comfortable glow on the two easy- 
chairs wherewith he had supplemented the furniture of 


A Traitor in London. 


170 

Mrs. Hicks. To him belonged also a tall press with 
pigeon-holes filled with papers, and a knee-hole desk 
with many drawers and brass knobs. On this latter 
the lamp was placed, and its crimson shade shut off 
the light beyond the immediate circle cast on the desk. 
On the mantel glittered a gimcrack French clock, and 
three extraordinary ornaments with brass pendants. 
But altogether the room was decidedly comfortable, 
and as Mr. van Zwieten did not pay for it out of his 
own pocket, maybe he enjoyed it all the more on that 
account. 

At the present moment he was shifting papers from 
the pigeon-holes into an iron box, destroying some, 
and burning others, and executing the business with 
ease and despatch. 

While he was thus employed a timid knock came at 
the door. He knew the knock well, and he knew that 
behind it was Mrs. Hicks. He did not desist from his 
occupation because he held her of but small account. 
It would have been otherwise had the knock been 
sharp and peremptory. 

“Well, Mrs. Hicks,” he said graciously as the pale 
widow glided in, “ what is it ? ” 

“If you please, Mr. Jones, there is a man waiting to 
see you.” 

“ A man — a gentleman ? ” 

“ A common person, sir, in a rough coat, and a cap 
and big boots. 1 don’t think he’s a gentleman, as he 
speaks rough like, and his black hair and beard look 
very untidy, Mr. Jones. 1 was once a lady’s maid, 
sir, so 1 ought to know a gentleman when 1 see 
him.” 


What Van Zwieten Knew. 171 

“Show him up,” said Van Zwieten, curtly; then, as 
she left the room, he made certain preparations. He 
closed the press doors and the lid of his iron box, 
seated himself at his desk, and glanced into a drawer 
to be sure that his revolver was handy. In Van 
Zwieten’s walk of life it was necessary to be fore- 
armed as well as forewarned. 

The man who shortly afterward came tramping into 
the room fully bore out Mrs. Hicks’s description. He 
was of medium height and rather stout, and was 
roughly dressed in coarse blue serge, and had a tangle 
of black curls and a heavy black beard. He was not 
a prepossessing object. In response to Van Zwieten’s 
invitation he shuffled into an armchair by the desk, 
and pushed it well back into the shadow. The act, 
though skillfully done, roused the Dutchman’s sus- 
picions. But he was accustomed in his delicate pro- 
fession to deal with curious customers, and he showed 
no surprise. He did not even shift the shade of the 
lamp. But very much on the alert, he waited for the 
stranger to state his business. 

“ Is your name Jones ? ” asked the man, in a gruff, 
surly voice. 

“ Yes, that is my name. And yours ? ” 

“ Dobbs — Augustus Dobbs. 1 should have brought 
a letter to you, but I didn’t. It’s better to do my 
own business off my own hook, 1 reckon.” 

“Are you a Yankee ?” asked Van Zwieten, noting 
the expression and a slight twang. 

“1 guess so. 1 come from N’York City, 1 do; and 
1 fancy a run out to the Transvaal to have a slap at the 
Britishers.” 


172 


A Traitor in London* 


“Indeed!” said the Dutchman, staring blankly at 
his visitor, “and what have I to do with your am- 
bitions in that direction ? ” 

The man drew the back of his hand across his 
mouth, and Van Zwieten noted that the hand was 
white and well cared for. This, in contrast to the 
rough dress and harsh voice, made him more circum- 
spect than ever. He began to suspect a trap, and won- 
dered which of his enemies — for he had many — could 
have set it. 

“ Do you know a man named Mazaroff ? ” asked Mr. 
Dobbs, after a pause. 

“No,” replied Van Zwieten, lying cheerfully; “never 
heard of him.” 

“ He’s a Russian.” 

“ The name sounds like it.” 

Dobbs looked disappointed and turned sullen. “ He 
knows you, Mr. Jones!” 

“Indeed, that is not improbable. Did he send you 
to me ? ” 

“Yes, he did.” Dobbs had dropped his American 
accent by this time, and only used it again when he 
recollected himself. “ Mazaroff said you paid well for 
certain information.” 

“What kind of information ?” 

“ About the war.” He leaned forward and spoke in 
a gruff whisper. “ What would you say to a plan of 
the whole campaign against the Boers ? ” 

Van Zwieten smiled blandly. “Of what possible 
interest can that be to me ? ” 

“Mazaroff said you would be prepared to pay well 
for such information.” 


What Van Zwieten Knew. 173 

“He knows me then better than I do myself,” re- 
plied Van Zwieten. “Better than I know him, for 
indeed I have no knowledge of your Russian friend. 
But this plan of campaign, Mr. Dobbs, how did it 
come into your possession ? ” 

Dobbs looked round mysteriously, and rising in his 
chair, leaned toward Van Zwieten. “1 stole it,” he 
said softly, “and I am willing to sell it — at a price. 
Think of it, Mr. Jones, a plan of campaign! Symons’s 
plans! The Boers would be able to frustrate it 
easily.” 

Van Zwieten looked his man up and down with a 
smile. His gaze alighted on those well-kept hands, 
which his visitor had placed on the desk to steady 
himself as he leaned forward. On the third finger of 
the left hand was a ring, and Van Zwieten recognized 
it. It was a gold signet ring with a crest. 

The moment he set eyes on it, the spy jumped to a 
conclusion, which happened to be the right one. He 
knew now who his visitor was, and he played him 
as a skillful angler plays a trout. Not a muscle of 
his face moved, not a flush or a look betrayed his 
newly-gained knowledge. But he smiled behind his 
golden beard to think that he was master of the situa- 
tion. 

“So Mr. Mazaroff told you that I bought such 
things?” he said negligently. 

“ Yes, and that you paid a large price for them.” 

“ Ah ! and what would you call a fair price for these 
papers ? ” 

“Say a thousand pounds.” 

“That is a very large price indeed. Too large, I 


174 


A Traitor in London. 


fear, for me,” said Van Zwieten, most amiably. 
“ Perhaps you can see your way to make it lower ?” 

The visitor could not refrain from a movement of 
satisfaction, which was duly noted by the astute 
Dutchman. 

“Well,” he said, “1 will do what 1 can to meet 
you.” Van Zwieten smiled. He saw that the man 
was growing excited, and that in his excitement he 
would probably betray himself. 

“ That is accommodating of you, Mr. Dobbs. But 
how can I be certain this plan is genuine ? ” 

“You can be perfectly certain, for I stole it from 
the War Office! ” 

“Indeed. That is certainly first hand. But how 
did you, an American, get into the War Office.^” 

“1 have been a porter there for some time,” said 
Dobbs, glibly. “1 am allowed access to all the 
rooms. 1 saw those papers on a desk, and I took 
them. Mazaroff told me you paid well, so — well, I 
came to you. Come, now, you shall have them for 
five hundred pounds.” 

“Too much, Mr. Dobbs.” 

“Three hundred,” said the man, trembling with 
eagerness. 

“ Ah, that’s more reasonable. Have you the papers 
with you ?” 

“No, but if you will come to my lodgings I will 
give them to you. But I must have the money first.” 

“ Certainly. Will a check do.? ” 

“Oh, yes, a check will do right enough.” 

Van Zwieten produced a check-book and bent over 
it to hide a smile. He drew the check, but before 


What Van Zwieten Knew. 175 

signing it looked up. “Of course this rather incul- 
pates you,” he said. “1 suppose you know what it 
means if you were caught at this game 

“Tm willing to take the risk,” said Dobbs, nerv- 
ously. 

“Quite so. Just see if I’ve got your name cor- 
rectly. Burton, isn’t it ? ” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“Wilfred Burton.” 

“ I — I — don’t understand ” 

Van Zwieten deftly twitched the beard off the face 
of his visitor and snatched the shade off the lamp. 
“Do you understand now.?” he said, laughing. 
“Look in the glass, sir, and see if Augustus Dobbs is 
not Wilfred Burton ? ” 

Wilfred was ghastly pale, but more with rage at the 
failure of his scheme than with fear. With a cry of 
anger he sprang up and whipped a revolver out of his 
pocket. But Van Zwieten, on the alert for some such 
contingency, was quite as quick. He also snatched a 
revolver from the drawer, and with levelled weapons 
the two men faced one another. Van Zwieten was as 
calm as the other was excited. 

“You are very clever, Mr. Burton,” he said mock- 
ingly; “ but when you are in disguise you should not 
wear a signet ring. 1 observed your crest on the 
letters written to Miss Scarse by your brother. Come! 
how long are we to stand like this ? Is it a duel ? If 
so, 1 am ready.” 

Wilfred uttered an oath and slipped his weapon into 
his pocket. With a laugh Van Zwieten tossed his into 
the drawer again, and sat down quite unruffled. 


176 A Traitor in London. 

“ I think we understand one another now,” he said 
genially. “What induced you to play this trick on 
me?” 

“Because you are a spy,” replied Wilfred, fiercely; 
“and if I had my way I would put a bullet through 
you.” 

“ Well, and why don’t you ? ” mocked Van Zwieten. 
“ Do you see that iron box ? — it is full of papers which 
might be of the greatest interest to you. Shoot me 
and take possession of it. Your Government would 
reward you — or hang you! ” 

“They’ll hang you if they learn the truth. We are 
at war with the Boers, and you are a Boer spy. A 
word from me and you would be arrested.” 

“1 dare say. There are enough documents in that 
box to hang me. I dare say you bribed Mazaroff and 
learned my business, also my address here as Mr. 
Jones. But I am not afraid — not that! ” Van Zwieten 
snapped his fingers “You can walk out and call up 
the police if you like.” 

“ And what is to prevent my doing so ?” 

“ Two things. One is that I leave immediately for 
the Transvaal. Oh, yes, my work here is done, and 
well done. I have found out how unprepared you 
English are for this war. You talk big, but there is 
nothing at the back of it.” 

“Confound you!” cried Wilfred, his white face 
flushing, “you’ll find out what is at the back of it 
when we hoist the British flag at Pretoria. What is 
the second thing ?” 

“Your brother. You love your brother, no doubt, 
Mr. Burton. He sails to-morrow with his regiment 


What Van Zwieten Knew. 177 

from Southampton. Quite so. Well, Mr. Burton, it 
is a good thing he is going. It is better he should be 
shot than hanged.” 

“Hanged!” Wilfred sprang from his seat with a 
bound. 

“The morning after the murder,” continued Van 
Zwieten, without taking any notice, “I examined the 
place where Malet was shot. Ah! you blind English, 
who see nothing even when it lies under your nose. 
I am Dutch. I am sharp. I looked — and looked — 
and I found this! ” He slipped his hand into the open 
drawer of the desk and produced a heavy revolver 
of the army pattern. “ This, Mr. Burton — with which 
your brother shot Mr. Malet.” 

“You — you can’t prove it is Harold’s,” said he, 
white but calm. 

“ Easily. Here is a silver plate on the butt with his 
name. Now, what do you say ? ” 

“ That my brother is innocent. The revolver is his, 
but some one else fired the shot.” 

Van Zwieten shrugged his shoulders. “I am afraid 
you will find it difficult to get a jury to take that view, 
Mr. Burton. Your brother quarrelled with Malet — he 
was overheard to threaten him — he was out in the 
storm and could not account for his time— and here is 
his revolver. With all that evidence I could hang him. 
But you know — well, I’ll be generous. Hold your 
tongue and I’ll hold mine. What do you say ?” 

Wilfred looked piercingly at Van Zwieten, who had 
dropped his bantering tone and was in earnest. 
“Harold is innocent,” said he, “but — I’ll hold my 
tongue.” 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM. 

When Wilfred had taken his departure, Van Zwieten 
drew a breath of relief. He had only escaped a great 
danger by virture of his ready resource and the ex- 
citability and hot-headed impulsiveness of his ad- 
versary. 

Without doubt Wilfred’s plan — and a harum-scarum 
plan it was — had been to decoy him into an ambush of 
police, on the pretence of selling him the so-called 
State papers, and when he had irretrievably betrayed 
himself, to have had him arrested as a spy. Thanks 
only to his skill in penetrating the disguise of his 
visitor, Van Zwieten had evaded this peril; but he had 
been in greater danger than even Wilfred knew. 

The papers in the iron box were sufficient to prove 
him a spy ten times over. Had Wilfred only been 
astute enough to have procured a search warrant on 
the evidence of Mazaroff, and with the assistance of 
the police to have raided the premises of the so-called 
Mr. Jones, these papers would have been discovered, 
and Mr. van Zwieten’s little games put an end to for 
the time being. 

But Wilfred had let the golden moment go by, and 
the Dutchman was safe from his worst enemy — that 
is from the one who wished him most harm, and who 
knew most to his disadvantage. 

178 


The Girl He Left Behind Him. 179 

There was no doubt that Wilfred was now power- 
less to move against him. By skillfully suggesting 
that Harold had committed the murder, — which was 
untrue — and producing the revolver inscribed with 
Harold’s name, which had been found near the scene 
of the murder, — which was true — Van Zwieten had 
effectually stopped the mouth of Mr. Wilfred Burton. 
If that young man now denounced him to the author- 
ities he would do so at the risk of having his brother 
arrested. And in the face of such evidence it might 
be that Harold would be found guilty. In any case he 
would be prevented from sailing for South Africa. But 
Van Zwieten, while looking after himself, had no wish 
that things should go thus far. He was most anxious 
that Captain Burton should go to the front, for if 
chance did not aid him, he had quite determined to 
have him specially shot in action. 

At present things were going as he wished. Wil- 
fred was coerced into silence, he himself was safe, 
and Harold was about to go to his death in Natal. 
There remained only Brenda to deal with, and with 
her Mr. van Zwieten hoped to come to an understand- 
ing very shortly now. 

The rest of the night he spent in burning such 
papers as he did not require and in packing the re- 
mainder in the iron box. It was of no great size this 
box, and one man could carry it away with ease. 
Van Zwieten locked it, and then stowed it away on 
the top of the tall press, in a hollow formed by the 
ornamentation of the crest. Into this the precious 
box just fitted; and thus carelessly deposited, he took 
it to be far safer than any more elaborate attempt at 


i8o A Traitor in London. 

concealment could make it. A thief would assuredly 
make for the safe first and foremost, so would the 
police, while neither would think of looking on the 
top of the press. Not that Van Zwieten expected 
either thieves or police, for that matter; but it was his 
habit to place the box there, and what had happened 
in no way caused him to depart from his usual cus- 
tom. 

Having thus finished his work, he went to bed and 
slept for a few hours. And as he closed his eyes his 
thoughts were altogether pleasant. 

“ 1 shall go down to Southampton to-morrow,” they 
ran, “ and see Burton off for the front. 1 sha’n’t exactly 
relish being witness of his very tender leave-taking 
with Brenda; but it will be some satisfaction to know 
ifs for the last time. She won’t see him again. 
We’ll be married at once and I’ll follow close on his 
heels. If he only knew! If she only knew! But that 
is what shall be. 1, Van Zwieten, have spoken. 
Then, once in the British camp, I can both serve these 
brave little Republics and make sure that Captain 
Harold Burton is made short work of. That will be 
very easily done. And then when all is over, and 
these British hogs are driven into the sea, I’ll come 
and fetch my little wife, and there, amid the glorious 
expanse of the veldt, we shall live together happily 
ever after.” A beautiful little castle of cards truly, 
but one which, had he only known, was destined to be 
very much knocked about by Fate, over which not 
even he. Van Zwieten, had control. 

Next morning he was up betimes, and handing the 
key of his rooms to Mrs. Hicks with strict injunctions 


The Girl He Left Behind Him. i8i 


to admit no one, he set off for Waterloo Station. He 
knew that he could trust his little landlady, and he 
judged it wiser to do so than to lock up and take the 
key in his pocket, for of that even she might have been 
suspicious. 

On his way to the terminus he again relapsed into a 
gentle and wholly self-congratulatory reverie; and with 
a religious zeal worthy of a follower of Oom Paul he 
fished from the deep recesses of his memory a text 
bearing on the destruction of the unrighteous — to wit, 
in this instance. Messieurs Wilfred and Harold Burton. 

The ancient town of Southampton was gay with 
flags, crowded with people, and bubbling over with 
excitement and bustle. Through the streets marched 
the troops in khaki, with resolute faces and swinging 
tread, while those whose rights they were going to 
defend cheered them, poured blessings on them, and 
sought to enliven them with frequent snatches of 
patriotic song. Not since the days of the Crimea — 
a dim memory even to the older generation — had there 
been such excitement. And the great transport lay 
there — a floating barracks — ready and impatient to 
carry these brave fellows overseas to vindicate the 
name of Britain as a civilizing and protective power. 
Oom Paul had been given rope enough; now he was 
going to hang himself, or be hanged, as he assuredly 
deserved to be. 

Maybe Van Zwieten thought otherwise. He sur- 
veyed the excited throng with his usual bland smile, 
and pushed his way through their midst down to the 
quay. Knowing, as no one else did, the true power 
of the Republics, he smiled grimly as he thought how 


i 82 


A Traitor in London. 


soon all this joy would be turned into mourning. But 
what Mr. van Zwieten did not know — what he could 
not realize — was that the more terrible the danger 
threatening a Britisher the more does he set his back 
to the wall, and set his teeth to meet it and to conquer. 

In the bright sunlight the troops embarked, speeches 
were made, healths were drunk, and many a hand 
gripped hand. On board the transport the officers 
.were busy looking after their men and superintending 
the horses being taken on board. Brenda, quietly 
dressed, and doing her best to keep up her spirits, 
was leaning on the arm of her father, and longing for 
a few last words with Harold. But Captain Burton — 
a fine, soldierly figure in his khaki uniform — was on 
duty, and could not be spared for the moment. 

Much as Mr. Scarse disliked the war and reprobated 
the causes which had led to it, he had come down with 
Brenda to see the last of Harold; but in the face of all 
this he could not but lament inwardly that the good 
offices of the peace party had not prevailed. This stir 
and military activity was surely out of all proportion 
to the business in hand — the subjugation of a mere 
handful of farmers! But Mr. Scarse forgot that 
wasps are not so easily crushed — that the larger the 
fist that tries to crush them the greater the chance of its 
being stung. While thus meditating on the iniquity 
of his country, he felt his daughter start, and when he 
looked at her he saw that she was white and trembling. 

“What is it, Brenda he asked nervously, for he 
had not been the same man since his interview with 
the Dutchman. 

“I have seen Mr. van Zwieten,” she replied faintly. 


The Girl He Left Behind Him. 183 

‘‘He is yonder in the crowd. He smiled in that hor- 
rible way of his when he caught my eye.” 

“Never mind, Brenda. Van Zwieten can do no 
harm now; and shortly we shall be rid of him alto- 
gether. He is going out to the Cape.” 

“To Pretoria, you mean.” 

“No, I mean to the Cape,” returned her father. 
“Rather to my surprise, 1 hear he has given up his 
appointment in the Transvaal, and has thrown in his 
lot with this misguided country. He goes with Lord 
Methuen as the correspondent of The Morning Planet — 
to report the massacre of his unfortunate countrymen, 
I suppose.” 

“I don’t believe he is on our side,” Brenda said 
vehemently. “At heart he is a traitor, and has been 
living in London spying for the benefit of the Boers — 
so, at least, Wilfred tells me.” 

“Wilfred is an excitable boy. Can he prove this 
wild charge ? ” 

“Not now; but he intends to do so later.” 

“He never will. Believe me, I don’t like Van 
Zwieten, and I regret very much that I ever made a 
friend of him, but 1 don’t think he is a spy.” 

“ I’m sure he is! ” 

“ How can you be sure ? ” 

“Because I hate him,” replied Brenda, with true 
feminine logic. “ And if he is going to the front, I’ll 
tell Harold to keep a sharp eye on him.” 

“ It might be quite as well, dear,” replied her father, 
“forewarned is forearmed; and when he learns the 
truth about you, it is quite possible he might attempt 
some plot against Harold.” 


A Traitor in London. 


184 

“I’m not afraid. Harold can protect himself even 
against such a scoundrel as Van Zwieten. Here is 
Harold, father. How splendid he looks!” 

Brenda might well be excused for her enthusiasm. 
Captain Harold Burton did make a most striking and 
soldierly figure in his close-fitting khaki uniform. He 
was trim and natty in his dress, bright and ardent, and 
full of enthusiasm for the work before him. Brenda 
would have had him a trifle more subdued since he 
was about to leave her; but she had no cause to com- 
plain when he said good-bye. He felt their parting as 
much as she did, even though as a man and a soldier 
he was more able to conceal his emotions. 

“ Come down to my cabin, Brenda,” he said, taking 
her arm, “ I have got ten minutes to spare. We start 
in half an hour.” 

“I won’t come,” Mr. Scarse said, waving his hand. 
“Take her down, Harold, and get it over.” 

The two went below amongst the busy throng of 
stewards who were darting about getting the cabins in 
order. Into one on the starboard side Captain Burton 
led his wife. He shared it with a brother officer, who 
was at that moment on duty. Harold closed the door. 
The girl was crying bitterly now. He took her in his 
arms. 

“Don’t cry, dear little wife,” he said tenderly. 
“Please God, I’ll come back to you safe and sound.” 

“Oh, Harold, you will, I know you will! ” she said 
earnestly. “Nothing will happen to you. I dreamed 
it did, Harold, and dreams always go by contraries, 
you know. Dearest, if only I were coming with you, 
I wouldn’t mind.” 


The Girl He Left Behind Him. 185 

“Dear Brenda, it is better as it is; besides, I should 
have had to leave you at Cape Town. You could not 
have come to the front. No, dear, you stay with your 
father, and pray for a speedy end to the war. Remem- 
ber you are my wife now, Brenda, so 1 have no fear of 
any harm coming to you through that scoundrel Van 
Zwieten.” 

“ He is here, Harold. 1 saw him among the crowd. 
I have no fear for you, dear, there at the front; but — 
well, 1 am afraid of Van Zwieten’s treachery.” 

“ But he is in England, dearest; he can't hurt me out 
there.” 

“He is leaving for the Cape almost immediately. 
Father told me so.” 

“Well, then,” laughed Harold to comfort her, “if 1 
see him in the ranks of the enemy I’ll shoot him before 
he can take sight at me. Will that do ?” 

“ Harold, he won’t be in the ranks of the enemy.” 

“ Why not ? The fellow is a Boer — or to all intents 
and purposes will be when he takes up his Transvaal 
appointment.” 

‘ ‘ That’s just it. He has given up the appointment and 
is going out as correspondent to The Morning Planet” 

Captain Burton wrinkled his forehead. “ 1 don’t like 
this sudden conversion,” he said decisively. “ Wilfred 
believes the fellow is a spy.” 

“And so do I, dearest— from the bottom of my 
heart.” 

“Well, if he’s going to hang about our camps for 
the spy business I’ll make short work of him.” 

“ Be careful, Harold— oh, be careful. He is a danger- 
ous man.” 


i86 


A Traitor in London. 


“ I shall know how to manage him out there. 
Wilfred is coming out, you know, in a week or so, 
and ril get him to tell me all he knows about Van 
Zwieten. If he is a spy, we’ll watch him and have him 
slung up. I’ll keep my eyes open, Brenda. And if he 
tries on any games before he leaves England, just you 
see Lady Jenny.” 

“ What can she do ? ” 

“ A great deal. She wouldn’t tell me how she meant 
to manage him, but she told me she would bring him 
to his knees. That was why I determined to marry 
you before I left. Now that you are my wife. Lady 
Jenny will look after you. You must promise me, 
dear, that you’ll go at once to her if he should cause 
you the least uneasiness.” 

“I promise, dearest, for your sake. Oh, Harold, 
how I wish I was going!” 

‘‘ Yes, dear, I know you do. But you are a soldier’s 
wife now, and they do their work at home. I have 
made my will leaving all I have to you, Brenda; and 
if I don’t come back” — his strong voice trembled — 
“you will have enough to live on. At all events, your 
father has the will.” 

“ Harold! Harold! ” she cried, weeping on his breast, 
for this parting was very bitter to her, “ how can I bear 
it, darling? Dearest, be careful of your dear life for 
my sake — for me, your wife.” 

“Hush, dear, hush, I am in the hands of God.” He 
pressed her closely to him and kissed her in silence. 
Then he looked upward and said a silent fervent 
prayer. They clung to each other with aching hearts, 
too deeply moved, too sorrowful for words. Then 


The Girl He Left Behind Him. 187 


the tramping of feet overhead, the sound of cheers, the 
shrill voice of the bo’sun’s whistle, made them start up. 

“ Brenda,” whispered Harold, pressing her again to 
his heart, good-bye, my own dearest.” 

“Oh, Harold! Harold! Good-bye, darling! God 
bless you and bring you back to me.” 

On deck he led her to her father who was standing 
by the gangway, and placed her in his arms. “Take 
care of her, sir,” he said in a low voice, then hurried 
away at the call of duty. 

Father and daughter descended the gangway to the 
wharf. She stood as in a dream, with streaming eyes, 
among other women, and looked at the great ship. 
The shouts of the crowd, the glitter of the sunshine, 
the many-colored bunting, seemed like a cruel mockery 
to her aching heart. Her Harold was gone from her — 
and God knew when he would return. And every- 
where the women wept and strained and ached at 
parting with their dear ones. 

The transport was like a hive at swarming-time. 
The soldiers were hanging over the bulwarks and 
clinging to the rigging. Hats and handkerchiefs 
waved, women wept and men cheered. Then amidst 
all the noise and movement the blades of the screw 
began slowly to churn the water. As the seething 
white foam swirled astern, the band struck up “ Auld 
Lang Syne,” and the great ship swung majestically 
into mid-stream, her engines throbbing, and black 
smoke pouring through her funnels from the newly 
stoked furnaces below. Brenda, for weeping, could 
hardly see the grey monster gliding over the glitter- 
ing waters; nor, strain as she would, could she make 


i88 


A Traitor in London. 


out her Harold’s dear face amongst those hundreds 
of faces turned shoreward. The band changed the 
tune^ 

** I’m leaving thee in sorrow, Annie, 

I’m leaving thee in tears.” 

“My God!” exclaimed Brenda, almost hysterical 
now as she clutched her father’s arm. 

“Miss Scarse, ’ said a voice at her elbow. 

Brenda looked up with a tear-stained face, and 
a look of horror came into her eyes as she saw 
Van Zwieten’s hateful, calm face. “You! you! Ah, 
Harold!” 

“ Go away, sir, go away,” said Mr. Scarse, curtly. 
Then he began to push through the crowd with Brenda 
clinging to his arm. 

“ 1 must speak to Miss Scarse,” insisted the Dutch- 
man, following. 

The old man turned on him like a wolf. “ There is 
no Miss Scarse,” he said firmly. “ My daughter is now 
Mrs. Harold Burton.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 


THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS. 

As the full meaning of those words came upon him, 
Van Zwieten paled. His wicked eyes flashed fire, and 
he uttered an oath which, being in Dutch, was happily 
unintelligible to those around him. For- the moment 
he could neither move nor speak; and seeing his 
momentary helplessness, Mr. Scarse, with Brenda on 
his arm, hurried on through the crowd. 

Before the Dutchman could recover his presence of 
mind, there were already two or three lines of people 
between him and those whom he had fondly thought 
his victims. They had tricked him in spite of all his 
caution; even Scarse, whom he had been so sure of, 
had turned against him. But he would be revenged, 
and that speedily. Conjecturing that they would 
probably go to the railway station, Van Zwieten hur- 
ried thither. If he did not find them in the London 
train, then he would wait till he did. In any case he 
swore to get at the truth about this marriage. Their 
punishment should follow. 

On his part, Mr, Scarse, seeing the devil which 
looked out of the Dutchman’s eyes, knew that the man 
thus baffled was prepared to go to any lengths; and 
that being so, he was only too anxious to escape from 
so dangerous a neighborhood. 

Taken up with her own sorrow, Brenda had paid no 
189 


igo A Traitor in London. 

attention to the presence or foreboding glance of Van 
Zwieten, but submitted blindly to be guided through 
the crowd. All she longed for was to get to some 
quiet place where she could give way unrestrained to 
this grief that shook her whole being. And her father 
instinctively divined what she desired and said no word 
to comfort her, but hurried her on to the station, and 
by the judicious bestowal of half a sovereign secured a 
carriage to themselves. The man touched his hat, and 
after locking the door, walked off to see if any other 
person’s sorrow would take such tangible and wholly 
excellent form. 

There in the corner of the carriage Brenda lay back 
and wept for her lost husband, whom — it might be — 
she would never see again. But she had a great belief in 
dreams and in the contrariness of this particular dream ; 
and something told her he would come safe and sound 
out of the hurly-burly of battle. Nevertheless, life 
seemed very blank to her just then. She wept on un- 
restrained. Her father paid no attention to her. He 
was leaning out of the window watching for Van 
Zwieten. His mind travelled quite as quickly as that 
of the Dutchman, and he guessed that he would come 
on to the station on the chance of finding himself and 
Brenda in the London express. 

The inspector came along, unlocked the door, and 
tried to hustle a couple of weeping women into the 
carriage; but Mr. Scarse gave his name and whispered 
that he had engaged the carriage, whereupon the in- 
spector promptly conducted the mourners to another 
compartment. In his hurry he did not lock the door, 
which, as it turned out, was unfortunate. 


The Unexpected Happens. 191 

With great anxiety Mr. Scarse watched the minute 
hand of the station clock crawl round to the hour at 
which the train was timed to start. He turned hot 
and cold at the thought that Van Zwieten might come. 
He had a very shrewd idea of the Dutchman’s present 
mood. But there was no sign of him. And the bell 
was ringing now for the departure of the express. 

“Thank God!” cried Mr. Scarse, throwing himself 
back into his seat. “ We have escaped that villain for 
the time being at any rate.” 

Vain congratulation! It was as if he had tempted 
the gods. Hardly had the train commenced to move 
when the door of the carriage was dashed open, and 
Van Zwieten hurled himself into the compartment like 
a charging buffalo. Brenda uttered a cry of alarm; her 
father swore — a thing he very seldom permitted him- 
self to do; and the Dutchman, now quite master of his 
vile temper, smiled blandly and subsided into a seat. 
He cleared his throat to explain himself. Brenda cast 
on him one look of ineffable contempt, although she 
was far from feeling contemptuous, and did so merely 
out of bravado. Then she drew her veil down and 
glanced out of the window. If she was forced to 
travel with him, she was not forced to speak to him; 
and besides she felt quite safe having her father to 
protect her, and knowing how different now was his 
attitude toward the Dutchman. Van Zwieten smiled 
unpleasantly. He knew well how to rouse her out of 
that indifference, and he would do so when he judged 
the proper time had come. Meanwhile he explained 
himself to the enraged Scarse, whose blood was on 
fire at the creature’s insolence. 


192 


A Traitor in London. 


“Notwithstanding the very elaborate pains at which 
you were to reserve this carriage, Scarse, I trust you 
are sufficiently hospitable not to mind my joining 
you,” he said coolly. 

“ 1 mind very much, sir! ” cried the other. “ How 
dare you thrust your company where it is not wanted ? 
My daughter and I can dispense with your pres- 
ence.” 

“I dare say!” sneered the Dutchman, although he 
looked surprised at this unexpected resistance on the 
part of the hitherto meek M. P. ; “ but you see I have a 
great deal to say to you and Miss Scarse.” 

“Mrs. Burton, if you please,” Brenda said in a cut- 
ting tone. 

Van Zwieten bowed his fair head in a cruelly ironical 
manner. “1 beg your pardon, I did not know I was 
a day after the fair. But it seems to me most strange 
that you should be married when your father promised 
me that 1 should be your husband.” 

“ I did nothing of the sort,” said Mr. Scarse, bluntly. 
“ I promised to consent to your marrying my daughter 
if she chose to have you. But as she had a very 
distinct preference for Captain Burton, I agreed to 
that. And I’m glad of it! ” he cried with energy; “at 
least she has married an honorable man! ” 

“I also am an honorable man. I have kept your 
secret — up to the present ” 

“My secret?” cried the other, contemptuously. 
“Oh! tell it to whom you please.” 

Van Zwieten bit his lip to prevent an exhibition of 
the surprise he felt at this unexpected defiance. “ In 
that case I had better begin with Miss Sea — I beg 


The Unexpected Happens. 193 

your pardon — with Mrs. Burton. She would like to 
know ” 

“She does know,” interrupted Brenda, in her clear 
voice. “There is nothing left for you to tell, Mein- 
herr van Zwieten! ” 

“Ach! You make me out to be Dutch, then! You 
are wrong — I am English.” 

“ Quite so; until it suits you to become a Boer.” 

“We shall see. Oh, you will not have it all your 
own way in this war, you English. But enough of 
this,” he went on imperiously. “You know, then, 
that your father and his twin brother killed Mr. 
Malet ? ” 

“ I know nothing of the sort,” retorted Brenda, with 
spirit. “You had better take the case into court and 
prove your assertion.” 

“ Think of the scandal! ” 

“I can face all that,” cried Mr. Scarse, sharply. “If 
you think to blackmail me. Van Zwieten, you have 
come to the wrong person. So far as what 1 told you 
is concerned, you are harmless; you can do nothing.” 

“ Perhaps not. I won’t even try. But the arrows are 
not all out of my quiver yet. For you, old man, I care 
nothing, you cross not my path, so I can spare you; but 
as for Brenda ” 

The girl turned fearlessly upon him. “I will thank 
you, sir, to address me by my proper name, which is 
Mrs. Burton! ” 

Van Zwieten winced. He felt his position intensely, 
though he put a brave face on it. Brenda saw this, 
and realized the strain he was putting on himself to 
keep down his temper 


194 


A Traitor in London. 


“Mrs. Burton! Well, let it be so for the present— 
until you change it for Mrs. van Zwieten.” 

“That will be never! 

“ Oh, yes — when you are a widow.'’ 

Brenda shuddered, and fell back on her cushions; 
but her father leaned forward and shook his fist at the 
Dutchman. “I am an old man,” he said hoarsely, 
“ and you are young and strong, but if you insult my 
daughter I will strike you! In any case, you will leave 
the carriage at the next station.” 

“It is yet a quarter of an hour away,” sneered Van 
Zwieten, looking at his watch, “so that will be time 
enough to say what I have to say. I do not think you 
will ask me to go when you hear all 

“ I am not afraid,” said Brenda, coolly, “ my father 
is here to protect me. And we are in England, Mein- 
herr van Zwieten, not in your barbarous country of the 
Transvaal.” 

“Ah, you English will find it sufficiently civilized 
in warfare,” said the man, savagely. “ But I will come 
to the point. You are married to this Captain Bur- 
ton. Is that true, or is it not ? ” 

“ True ? Of course it is true.” 

“Let me speak, father,” put in Brenda. “Yes, it 
is true. We were married at St. Chad’s Church, 
Brighton, four days ago.” 

“Just time for a honeymoon — a very short honey- 
moon,” sneered Van Zwieten; but the perspiration 
was on his face, and the girl could see that he was 
suffering. She was glad to see it, and continued to 
speak, knowing that every word she uttered caused 
the villain intense pain. Callous as Van Zwieten was 


The Unexpected Happens. 195 

in most things, he was a true lover, and suffered only 
as a strong man like himself could suffer. 

'‘If you like to go to the church you can seethe 
register," she went on carelessly. “ My father was 
present, so was Lady Jenny Malet." She looked him 
full in the face as she mentioned the name, but he 
did not flinch. Whatever power Lady jenny might 
have over him, he was apparently ignorant of its 
existence. 

“It is a pity you did not ask me," he said, 
clenching his hands. “I should have completed 
the happy family party. Well, Burton has escaped 
now. We shall see if he will be so fortunate in the 
future." 

“Ah! you would murder him — 1 know it!" said 
Brenda, scornfully. “ But he can take care of him- 
self." 

“Very likely, Mrs. Burton; but can he protect him- 
self from the law ? " 

“What do you mean.^ That you are going to ac- 
cuse my husband of Mr. Malet’s murder.?^ You are 
quite capable of it." 

“I am; and I can prove that he is guilty." 

Mr. Scarse cast an angry glance at the man. “ You ' 
are a liar. Van Zwieten," he said savagely. “I 
wonder how I ever came to believe in you. You ac- 
cuse first me of the crime, then my brother; now it is 
Harold Burton you would ruin. We are all three in- 
nocent." 

“ Two of you, we will say. But the third is guilty." 
Van Zwieten spoke slowly, looking at Brenda the 
while. “I found the pistol with which the murder 


A Traitor in London. 


196 

was committed. It has a name on the butt. And the 
name is that of Harold Burton! ” 

The girl grew deathly pale and clasped her hands. 
“ I do not believe it,” she said bravely. 

“Well,” drawled Van Zwieten, throwing himself 
back, “ I can prove it by showing you the pistol — it is 
at my rooms in Duke Street. If you choose to come 
there — with your father, of course — you can see it. 
Yes, you may look and look; but your husband and 
no other killed Malet.” 

“It is false. There was no reason why Harold 
should kill Mr. Malet.” 

“Oh, pardon me, I think he had a very good rea- 
son,” corrected Van Zwieten, blandly; “at least Cap- 
tain Burton thought it a sufficient reason when I told 
him what I knew at Chippingholt.” 

“ Ah! ” flashed out Mrs. Burton, “ so this was what 
you told Harold to make him leave without saying 
good-bye to me! ” 

“ It was. I showed him the pistol, and he admitted 
that it was his 

“ But not that he had used it! ” 

“You are very sharp, Mrs. Burton; but that is just 
what he did confess.” 

“ I don’t believe it! ” cried the girl. 

“Nor I,” joined in Mr. Scarse. “ You are speaking 
falsely.” 

Van Zwieten shrugged his mighty shoulders. “ As 
you please,” said he. “If I show it to the lawyers 
you may find that what I say is true. If it was not 
true how could I have made Harold Burton leave 
Chippingholt ? Why did he keep his marriage with 


197 


The Unexpected Happens. 

you a secret ? Because he feared what I had to say 
about him. I had decided not to betray him if he left 
the lady to me. As it is, I shall speak.” 

“As you choose!” said Brenda. “You can prove 
no motive for such a crime. Harold left Chipping- 
hold because you told him that Mr. Malet had gambled 
away his twenty thousand pounds, and the poor dear 
did not want to tell me of his loss.” 

“Oh, yes, I told him that also. I knew more of 
Malet’s private affairs than you think. But Burton did 
not know the money was lost at the time he murdered 
Malet. He murdered him to get it.” 

“You speak very confidently,” returned Brenda, 
ironically. “You will now of course put the matter 
into the hands of the police.” 

“ Well, no; I shall not do that just now. However, 
as I see you do not believe me, 1 should like to give 
you an opportunity of changing your mind. Come 
with your father to my rooms in St. James’s to-mor- 
row and I will show you the revolver.” 

“ I dare say you have the weapon,” put in Mr. 
Scarse ; “but how do we know where you found 
it ? ” 

“ I can prove that. Come to-morrow and convince 
yourselves. Then 1 will make my terms.” 

“ Your terms ?” 

“Yes. My silence must be bought— but not with 
money. You, Mrs. Burton, must give me your 
promise to marry me when you become a widow.” 

“1 am not a widow yet,” said Brenda, trying hard 
to keep up her courage, “and, please God, I shall 
never be! ” 


A Traitor in London. 


198 

“ Amen! ” sneered Van Zwieten, as the train slowed 
down, “we shall see. But I hold the winning card, 
and 1 intend to play it for my own benefit. Here we 
are, so I will leave you now. To-morrow at three I 
shall be at my rooms. If you do not come I will see 
the police about the matter.” 

“Very good,” said Brenda, much to her father's 
surprise. “I will be there.” 

“Come now, you are sensible!” sneered Van 
Zwieten; “I shall make something out of you yet, 
Mrs. Burton.” 

“Get out!” shouted Mr. Scarse, fiercely, “or I’ll 
throw you out! ” 

“Ah, bad temper, Scarse. Keep that for those 
who are fighting our Republics. Au revoir until to- 
morrow,” and Van Zwieten, jumping lightly out of the 
compartment, made for a smoking-carriage. 

“Why did you agree to meet the blackguard?” 
fumed Mr. Scarse when the train was moving off 
again. “ You know he is lying! ” 

“No, I don’t think he is.” 

“What ? do you believe your husband guilty ?” 

“ I wouldn’t believe it if an angel from heaven told 
me so!” flashed out Mrs. Harold Burton. “But Van 
Zwieten has this revolver with Harold’s name on it or 
he would not dare to speak so confidently. I will find 
out where he got it. He might have stolen it from 
Harold, or he might have had the name put on the 
silver plate. Harold is not here to contradict him. 
To-morrow we will take Wilfred with us. He will 
know if the revolver is Harold’s or not. In the 
meantime I will see Lady Jenny. Harold told me to 


The Unexpected Happens. 199 

go to her if Mr. van Zwieten made himself disagree- 
able. The time seems to have come.” 

V “ But what can she do ? ” 

“1 don’t know; but that is what I must find out. 
We will baffle this man yet. Oh, father, and to think 
that you once wanted me to marry him! ” 

“1 was wrong, my dear, very wrong,” Mr. Scarse 
said penitently; “ but at any rate you are married now 
to the man of your choice.” 

“Harold, my darling!” Brenda’s tears burst out 
afresh. “God knows if I shall ever see him again! ” 
She wept bitterly. Truly, poor Brenda was hard 
beset. 

Meantime Van Zwieten was swearing at his own 
stupidity in not having kept a sharper eye on Harold. 
But he had not expected the young man — whom he 
had regarded as his victim — to display such daring. 
At Chippingholt he had warned him that if he married 
Brenda he would denounce him. Well, he had 
married Brenda, and was now well beyond reach on 
his way to Africa. More than ever was Van Zwieten 
determined that he should pay for what he had done. 
He had but exchanged the gallows in England for a 
Boer bullet in South Africa. Then, when he was no 
more, his widow should become Mrs. van Zwieten. 
That he swore should be. He had failed once, he 
would not fail again. From Waterloo he went to 
Westminster, to get the revolver and take it to his 
rooms, that he might have it ready for production on 
the morrow. 

On arrival there he was met by Mrs. Hicks. She 
was in the greatest distress. “ Oh, sir! ” she cried, “ a 


200 


A Traitor in London. 


policeman’s been here, and has taken a box from your 
room — an iron box! ” 

For the moment Van Zwieten stood stunned. Then 
he rushed upstairs and looked on the top of the press. 
The box was gone! 


CHAPTER XVII. 


CHECKMATED. 

Strong man as he was, Van Zwieten reeled half- 
fainting against the wall. It was true — the box was 
gone! In a flash he realized his peril. For that box 
held little that was not of a highly compromising na- 
ture. Once its contents were seen by the authorities 
— as it would seem they must be — he would be ar- 
rested as a spy, imprisoned, perhaps hanged. No in- 
genuity or lying on his part could explain away the 
damning' evidence of the papers. They spoke for 
themselves. 

What a fool he had been not to have forwarded 
them to Leyds in the morning as he had intended to 
do. Now it was too late, and nothing remained but 
to fly to Pretoria and to throw in his lot openly with 
his employers. Useless now to think of going out as 
correspondent to an English newspaper, even were he 
able to manage his escape from London. Those in 
command at the front would surely be advised of his 
true character by the home authorities ; and not only 
that, but he would be unmasked in a country under 
military law, where a spy such as he would receive 
but short shrift. Fly he must, and that at once. He 
must get to the Continent, and take ship for Delagoa 
Bay. The game was up in England; there remained 
now only the Transvaal. 

After the first emotion of terror had passed, Van 
201 


202 


A Traitor in London.. 


Zwieten collected his wits and set to work to find 
some way out of the difficulty. Had he been in 
Russia or France he would have given himself up to 
despair, for there the authorities were lynx-eyed and 
relentless. But here in England he was amongst a 
people so firmly wedded to their old-fashioned laws 
as to freedom and justice that they might fail to take 
the strong measures which the situation, so far as they 
were concerned, demanded. He would baffle these 
pig-headed islanders yet, and, with a courage born of 
despair, he set himself to the accomplishment of this 
design. 

Mrs. Hicks, pale and tearful, had followed him into 
the room and had been witness of his despair. The 
poor woman was too much agitated to speak. This 
unexpected invasion of her quiet house by the police 
had been altogether too much for her. Van Zwieten 
made her sit down, and proceeded to question her. 
With many tears and lamentations that she had no 
husband to protect her, she gave him all the necessary 
details, and he listened with feverish anxiety to every 
word. 

“It was about midday, Mr. Jones,” said Mrs. Hicks; 
“yes, I will not deceive you, sir, the clock was just on 
twelve when I heard a ring at the door. I left Mary 
Anne in the kitchen and went to see who it was. 
There was a hansom at the door, sir, and standing on 
the mat there was a policeman and a lady.” 

“A lady.?” put in Van Zwieten, looking rather 
puzzled, for he could not guess what woman could 
have interfered with his affairs. He had always kept 
himself clear of the sex. “ What lady ?” 


Checkmated. 


203 

don’t rightly know her name, Mr. Jones, for, to 
be plain with you, she never gave it to me. She was 
a short lady, sir, with black hair and eyes — as black as 
your hat, sir.” 

Dressed in mourning ? ” asked the Dutchman, with 
a sudden flash of intuition. 

As you say, sir — dressed in mourning, and beauti- 
fully made it was, too. She asked if Mr. Jones lived 
here, and if he was at home. I said you did lodge 
with me, sir, having no reason to hide it, but that you 
were out. The lady stepped into the passage then 
with the policeman.” 

“ What was the policeman like ?” 

“Tall and handsome, with big black eyes and a 
black beard. He was something like the gentleman 
who came to see you last night. I beg pardon, did 
you speak, sir ? ” 

But Van Zwieten had not spoken. He had uttered 
a groan rather of relief than otherwise. The thing 
was not so bad after all. In the lady he recognized 
the wife of Mr. Malet, though why she should have 
come to raid his rooms was more than he could un- 
derstand. The policeman he had no difficulty in 
recognizing as Wilfred Burton in a new disguise. 
Without doubt it was he who had brought Lady Jenny 
Malet to the Westminster rooms. And Wilfred knew, 
too, of the existence of the box with its compromising 
contents, of which Van Zwieten himself had been 
foolish enough to tell him on the previous night, out 
of a sheer spirit of bravado— bravado which he bitterly 
regretted when it was too late. He swore now in his 
beard, at his own folly, and at Wilfred’s daring. 


204 


A Traitor in London. 


However, now that he could feel tolerably sure that 
the authorities had nothing to do with the seizure of 
his papers, he felt more at ease. After all, these 
private enemies might be baffled, but of this he was 
not so sure as he had been. The several checks which 
had recently happened to him had made him feel less 
sure of himself. 

“Well, Mrs. Hicks,” he said, rousing himself from 
his meditations, “and what did these people do?” 

Mrs. Hicks threw her apron over her head and 
moaned. “ Oh, sir! ” she said, in muffled tones, which 
came from under her apron, “they told me that you 
were a dangerous man, and that the Government had 
sent the policeman to search your rooms. The lady 
said she knew you well, and did not want to make a 
public scandal, so she had brought the policeman to do 
it quietly. She asked me for the key, and said if 1 did 
not give it up she would bring in a dozen more police- 
men — and that would have ruined me, sir!” 

‘ ‘ And you believed her ? ” cried Van Zwieten, cursing 
her for a fool. 

Mrs. Hicks whipped the apron off her head and 
looked at her lodger in wide-eyed amazement. “Of 
course I did,” she said; “I’m that afraid of the police 
as never was. Many a time have I feared when I saw 
poor Hicks — who is dead and gone — in the hands of 
the constables for being drunk, poor lamb! I wouldn’t 
resist the police; would you, sir?” 

“Never mind,” he said, seeing it was useless to 
argue with her. “You let them into my rooms, I 
suppose ? ” 

“As you may guess, sir, me being a law-abiding 


Checkmated. 


205 

woman, though the taxes are that heavy. Yes, sir, I 
took them up to your room and left them there.” 

“ Ach! what did you do that for ? ” 

“I could not help myself, sir. The policeman 
ordered me to go away, and it was not for me to dis- 
obey the law. I left them there for twenty minutes, 
and then 1 came up to see what they were doing. The 
policeman had gone and so had the cab, though I swear 
to you, Mr. Jones, that I never heard it drive away. 
The lady was sitting, cool as you like, at your desk 
there, writing.” 

What was she writing ? ” 

“That, sir, I don’t rightly know, as she put her 
letter into an envelope, and here it is.” 

He snatched the letter Mrs. Hicks produced from her 
pocket, and said something not very complimentary to 
that good woman’s brains. She was indignant, and 
would fain have argued with him, but he silenced her 
with a gesture, and hurriedly read the letter. As he 
had already guessed, the writer was Lady jenny Malet; 
and she merely asked him to call at her house in Curzon 
Street for explanations. So she put it, somewhat 
ironically perhaps, and Van Zwieten swore once again 
— this time at the phrase. He put the letter in his 
pocket, determined to accept the invitation, and to 
have it out with this all too clever lady. Meanwhile 
Mrs. Hicks rose to make a speech. 

“ I have to give you notice, sir,” she said in her most 
stately tones, “ as 1 have not been in the habit of letting 
my rooms to folk as is wanted by the police. You will 
be pleased to leave this day week, which, I believe, 
was the agreement.” 


2o6 


A Traitor in London. 


“I intend to leave this day,” retorted her lodger. 
“ I told you I was going, and I have not seen fit to alter 
my decision. 1 will send for my furniture this after- 
noon, and 1 will pay your account now.” 

“Thank you, sir. 1 shall be most obliged, and 1 
think you should pay me extra for the disgrace you 
have brought on my house. Oh,” wailed Mrs. Hicks, 
“ to think 1 should have lodged murderers and 
forgers! ” 

Van Zwieten started at the word “murderer,” but 
he recovered himself quickly. He dismissed her with 
a shrug. “Go down and make your account out,” 
he said. “ You have done mischief enough already.” 

“Oh, indeed!” cried the woman, shrilly. “1 do 
like you, sir, disgracing my honest house, and then 
turning on me! 1 have been deceived in you, Mr. 
Jones; never again will 1 let my lodgings to mys- 
terious gentlemen. And when they put you in the 
.dock, sir. I’ll come and see you hanged! ” and with 
this incoherent speech Mrs. Hicks tottered out of the 
room. 

Left alone. Van Zwieten lost no time in vain lamen- 
tation. He had been beaten by his enemies for the 
present; he could only wait to see if the tide of war 
would turn. It would be necessary to make terms 
with Lady jenny and Wilfred, for they now possessed 
the evidences of his employment in England. But 
on his side he could use his knowledge of the mur- 
der and of Harold’s connection with it — as witness 
the revolver — to keep them quiet. If they could bite, 
so could he. 

Meanwhile he gathered together his personal belong- 


Checkmated. 


207 

ings and packed them; he left the drawers of his desk 
empty, and he put the clothes of Mr. Jones into a large 
trunk. By the time Mrs. Hicks arrived with her bill 
he was quite ready. Nor had he left any evidence 
which would identify Mr. Jones of Westminster with 
Mr. van Zwieten of St. James’s. Beaten he might be, 
but he would retreat in good order. 

“This is my bill, sir,” said Mrs. Hicks. “1 have 
charged nothing for the disgrace to my house! ” 

“Just as well,” retorted he. “You would gain 
nothing by that. There is the money — in cash. I 
suppose you would prefer it to my check.” 

“Well, sir,” said Mrs. Hicks, softened somewhat by 
the gold, “you have always paid up like a gentleman, 
I will say, and 1 hope they won’t hang you! ” 

“Thank you,” said Van Zwieten, drily, as he 
fastened his glove; “that is very kind of you. I will 
see after my furniture this afternoon. Is there a cab 
at the door ? All right. Send the man up for my lug- 
gage. And, Mrs. Hicks ” — he turned on her, as Mrs. 
Hicks described it afterward, like a tiger — “it will be 
as well for you to hold your tongue about this business. 
By the way, how did you know the policeman took 
away my box ?” 

“Mary Anne was watching on the stairs, sir, and 
she saw the policeman come down with it,” said the 
landlady, with dignity. “Oh, I won’t say anything, 
sir, you may be sure. I only want to keep away from 
the law. I hope you’ll be as lucky!” and Mrs. Hicks 
bowed her suspicious guest out of the house. She was 
immensely relieved when she saw his cab drive round 
the corner. 


2o8 


A Traitor in London. 


In another ten minutes Mr. Jones was transformed 
into Mr. van Zwieten, and was established in his rooms 
in Duke Street, St. James’s. But he had no intention of 
staying there long. The place was evidently too hot 
to hold him, or would be unless he could threaten and 
bully Lady Jenny and Wilfred into surrender of that 
precious box. In any event, his great desire was to 
go south. His work in England was done, and well 
done. Even Leyds acknowledged that. But for Van 
Zwieten’s report of the rusty condition of the British 
army; the out-of-date ordnance; the little way these 
islanders had of putting incompetent men in office, to 
be rendered still more incompetent by an antiquated 
system of red-tapeism; and the inconceivable folly 
practiced of allowing the civil power to override the 
opinion of military experts; but for all these things the 
Republics — well armed though they were — would not 
have declared war. The world was amazed at their 
daring. But their two Presidents knew what they 
were about, and so did Leyds. His business it was to 
spread reports which would gain the sympathy of the 
Continental Powers; that of the burghers to hurl them- 
selves on the British, all unprepared as they were 
through the folly of the peace party. Now that the 
glove had been thrown down, Van Zwieten was all 
eagerness to get to the front. How useful he could be 
to his adopted country at this juncture! But were he 
in the British camp as war correspondent to an English 
newspaper, his usefulness would be trebled. And 
now it seemed as though his enemies were to upset 
all these plans by this one coup! 

However, there was nothing for it now but to face 


Checkmated. 


209 

them bravely and learn the worst. Then he could take 
what steps were possible to frustrate them. 

Meanwhile Brenda was pouring out her troubles to 
Lady Jenny Malet and telling her all about Van 
Zwieten and his threats. She had gone there full 
of anxiety to enlist the little widow's sympathies, 
and of indignation at the charge made by the 
Dutchman against Harold. Having made herself as 
clear as she knew how, and having related all 
the facts, she waited with some impatience for 
Lady jenny’s opinion, which was not immediately 
forthcoming. Indeed, it was some time before she 
spoke. 

The drawing-room was both tastefully and extrav- 
agantly furnished. Lady Jenny might be a spend- 
thrift, but she was also an artist, and alas! her period 
of splendor was drawing to a close. Already Chip- 
pingholt Manor had been sold to gratify the greedy 
creditors of its late owner. The house in Curzon 
Street was her own property under her marriage settle- 
ment, and this with ten thousand pounds from the 
insurance office was all she had in the world. So by 
the advice of her lawyer she had invested the money 
and let the house furnished. Now she was going 
abroad to practice economy in some continental town. 
All her plans were made; and this was the last week 
of her prosperity. She only lingered in England at 
the express request of Wilfred, who had made her 
promise to help him all she could to trap Van Zwieten. 
Brenda had come on the same errand; and now Lady 
Jenny sat and pondered how much she could tell her 
about the man. 


210 A Traitor in London. 

“Do speak to me,” said Brenda. “ I am so afraid 
for Harold.” 

“You need not be,” replied the widow, and her 
visitor noticed how worried and haggard she looked. 
“He is perfectly safe, I assure you. Van Zwieten 
shall not harm him ! ” 

“ But he accuses him of committing the murder! ” 

“So you said. But that doesn’t matter. Whoever 
killed poor Gilbert it was not Harold Burton.” 

“ Tell me how Harold’s revolver came to be found 
on the spot?” 

“ I have an idea, but I cannot tell you — at all 
events, not just yet. Wait till I have seen Van 
Zwieten.” 

“ Are you going to see him ? ” 

“ I think so — to-night, about nine o’clock. At least 
I left a note at his rooms which 1 think will bring him. 
I can only say that if he is a wise man he will come. 
Then 1 will settle him once and for all as far as Harold 
is concerned.” 

“ Lady Jenny, tell me who do you think killed your 
husband ? ” 

She looked at the girl sharply. “Did your father 
ever tell you he had a brother ? ” she asked. 

“ Yes, he told me all about it; and how your wicked 
husband ran away with his wife! 1 beg your pardon, 
I should not speak so of Mr. Malet.” 

“You need not apologize,” the widow said bitterly, 
“Gilbert deserves all the names you could have called 
him. He was a bad man; and even though he is 
dead, and though he was punished by a violent death, 
I have not forgiven him.” 


Checkmated. 


21 1 


“Oh, don’t say that; it is wrong! ” 

“ I know it is, but I can’t help it. I have southern 
blood in my veins, and I never forgive. 1 am glad 
your father told you the truth— it saves me from hav- 
ing to repeat a very painful story. That poor uncle of 
yours told me all about it, and how Gilbert had de- 
ceived and ill-treated his wife. I asked my husband, 
and he denied the story; but 1 saw the woman myself 
and made certain it was true. Then 1 hated Gilbert. 
Not for that only — there were other things. Before he 
married me, and after, he deceived me. I could have 
taken his punishment into my own hands, but I felt 
sure that Heaven would check his wicked career. But 
to go on with my story. That night I got a note from 
your uncle telling me that his wife was dead. I saw 
Gilbert in the library and showed him the letter. It 
was just before he went out. I reminded him that the 
man — and a madman at that — was hanging about the 
place. The boy who brought the letter had told me 
so, and I warned him against going out. He laughed 
at me, and was most insulting. Then he went, and 1 
never saw him again until his body was brought in. 
I knew then that the vengeance of Heaven had 
fallen!” 

Brenda looked at her with a white face. “ What do 
you mean ?” she asked in a whisper. 

“Child, can you not guess It was Robert who 
had killed him! ” 

“Impossible!” cried Brenda. “My father found 
my uncle and took him home with him. At the time 
of the murder Uncle Robert was in our cottage.” 

“ Is this true.?"” said the widow, and a bright color 


212 


A Traitor in London. 


came into her face. “ Then who was the man talking 
to Gilbert in the library ? There was some one with 
him just before nine o’clock. 1 was going to the 
Rectory to meet Harold about your business, and I 
went to the library to see if Gilbert had come back. 1 
was afraid of Robert Scarse and of what he might do, 
half crazed as he was by his wife’s death. Little as I 
loved my husband, I did not want that to happen. 
The door of the room was locked, but I heard voices. 
I went out without thinking any more about it. Oh, 
I swear to you, Brenda, that I have always believed 
it was your uncle who killed him! Who was it then ? 
The revolver! — ah! and Van Zwieten has it!” She 
jumped up and clasped her hands. “ I see! 1 know! 
I know! ” 

“ What ? ” asked the girl, rising in alarm. 

“Never mind — never mind. I will tell you soon. 
Go now, Brenda, and leave me to see Van Zwieten. 
Oh, I know how to manage him now!” 

“ Is it him you mean ? ” 

“ He is worse than a murderer,” Lady Jenny cried. 
“ He is a spy! ” 

“ 1 was sure of it. But how do you know ?” 

“I know; and I can’t tell you how. As to the 
murder, he has to do with that too. I believe he did 
it himself.” 

“But how do you know.?” repeated Brenda. 
“ How do you know ? ” 

“ No matter. I am sure he fired that shot, and I can 
prove it.” 

“Prove it, and hang him! ” cried Brenda, and there 
was bitter hatred in her voice. 


Checkmated. 


213 


The little widow sat down again, and the fire died 
out of her eyes. “No, I cannot hang him, even 
though he is guilty. There are things — oh, 1 can’t tell 
you. The man must go unpunished for the sake of — 
go away, child, and leave it all to me.” 

“But 1 want to know the truth — 1 must save 
Harold!” 

“/ will save Harold. He is safe from Van Zwieten. 
As to the truth, you shall know it when once he is out 
of the country.” 

Brenda had to be satisfied with this, for her friend 
absolutely refused to tell her any more. But she left 
feeling that her husband was safe from the intrigues 
of the Dutchman, and that was all she cared about. 

Left alone, Lady Jenny clenched her hands. 

“If I could only hang him! ” she muttered. “But 
that is impossible! ” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


EXIT VAN ZWIETEN. 

As Lady Jenny had expected, Mr. van Zwieten 
proved himself to be a wise man by presenting him- 
self in her drawing-room at the appointed hour. He 
was in evening dress, "calm and composed as usual, 
and greeted her with a low bow. She could not help 
admiring his self-possession. His reputation, his 
liberty even, was at stake, and yet he never turned a 
hair. And with these feelings uppermost, she received 
him more kindly, perhaps, than she would otherwise 
have done. The Dutchman, taking his cue from her, 
that the conversation, despite its probable sensational 
character, was not to be conducted on melodramatic 
lines, reciprocated her politeness. Any one seeing the 
pair might have imagined that they were discussing 
nothing of more importance than “Shakespeare and 
the musical glasses,” rather than a subject which, to 
one of them, at least, meant life or death. 

The hostess, in a black silk dinner dress, with a few 
well-chosen jewels, looked unusually pretty in the light 
of the lamps, and Van Zwieten was an admirer of 
pretty women, and knew well how to make himself 
agreeable to them. Had the subject-matter of their 
conversation been only less serious, he would have en- 
joyed himself. As it was, he did not find the hour he 
spent with her irksome. For a few moments the two 
214 


Exit Van Zwieten 


215 


antagonists discussed general topics, and then Lady 
Jenny came suddenly to the point. The man watched 
her warily. Pretty she might be, but that was no rea- 
son why he should allow her to get the better of him. 
It was a duel of words, and the combatants were well 
matched. 

“Well, Mr. van Zwieten," began the widow, “1 
suppose you were somewhat astonished at my invita- 
tion." 

“I cannot deny that 1 was, my dear lady. It is, 
perhaps, a trifle disconcerting to find one’s rooms 
robbed, and then to receive an invitation from the 
robber! ” 

“Oh, come, that is rather harsh, is it not? It was 
what 1 should call simple justice." 

“ Indeed! " replied the other, dryly. “ It would in- 
terest me to learn how you make that out." 

“Oh, easily. I can give you two reasons. In the 
first place, you threatened — did you not ? — to accuse a 
man of a crime which you knew he had not com- 
mitted. In the second, you are a spy, to put it 
plainly, and both Wilfred Burton and I felt it was our 
duty to secure proofs of your guilt. We are not all 
fools in this country! " 

“That is a charge one would hardly bring against 
you," returned Van Zwieten, with emphasis, “nor 
against that young man. Had I suspected him of so 
much cleverness, I should have taken more elaborate 
precautions." 

“Ah! you should never undervalue your enemies! 
Well, I suppose* you know that you are in my 
power ? " 


2i6 


A Traitor in London. 


“ And in Wilfred Burton’s also! ” 

“No. I can manage him. He has left the decision 
of this matter in my hands. I am sure you ought to 
be pleased at that! ” 

“ I am. Because I see you mean to let me off.” 

“That depends! ” she said, and shot a keen glance 
at him. “ I asked you to come here because it was 
necessary that I should see you, sir — but I despise you 
none the less for that. You are a spy! — the meanest 
of all created creatures.” 

Van Zwieten held up his hand. He was quite un- 
moved. “ My dear lady, let us come to business. 
Believe me, preaching of that kind has very little effect 
on me. I might defend myself by saying that I have 
every right to use craft on behalf of the Transvaal fox 
against the mighty English lion, but I will content my- 
self with holding my tongue. I would remind you 
that I have very little time to spare. I intend to leave 
this country to-morrow morning.” 

“ How do you know that I shall allow you to go ? ” 

“You would hardly have invited me to this inter- 
view else,” Van Zwieten said cunningly. “You have 
something you want from me. Well, I will give it in 
exchange for my safety — and that includes, of course, 
your silence.” 

“It is clever of you to put it that way,” responded 
the widow, coolly. “ It so happens that you are right. 
I intend to make a bargain with you.” 

“Always provided that I agree.” 

“Of course,” said she, airily; “but in this case I 
really think you will agree.” 

“ I am not so sure of that.” Van Zwieten narrowed 


Exit Van Zwieten 


217 

his eyes and blinked wickedly. “ You forget that 1 
also know something.” 

“For that reason 1 asked you here. Let me advise 
you not to pit yourself against me, my good man, or 
you may get the worst of it. A word from me and 
you would be kicking your heels in jail this very night.” 

“Probably.” Van Zwieten had too much to gain 
to notice her threat. “But you will never say that 
word.” 

“You can’t be quite sure of that yet. Well, let us 
get to business. I am not anxious to spend any more 
time in your company than is necessary.” 

“ 1 assure you the feeling is mutual. May I ask how 
you found my rooms in Westminster.^” 

“I think you know that^ery well after the visitor 
you received last night. 1 was told about them and 
you by Mr. Wilfred Burton. He knew long ago that 
you were a spy, and he has been watching you for 
many months.” 

“He is not so very clever then. All these months 
— and yet he has got no further than this! ” 

“ How much further do you want him to go.^ He 
has the box with all your papers — your treasonable 
papers — your orders from Dr. Leyds. Really, Mr. van 
Zwieten, you should have taken a little more care of 
that box! The top of a press was hardly a safe place 
to hide it. But perhaps you had been reading Poe’s 
story of the ‘ Purloined Letter.’ ” 

“Never mind what I read,” he said, evidently an- 
noyed at her flippancy. “ Let us confine ourselves to 
business. The idea of the disguised policeman was 
yours, I suppose ?” 


2i8 


A Traitor in London. 


‘*Yes, sir, it was. I felt sure that the landlady 
would not let us enter your room to make the search 
unless she was thoroughly frightened, so I suggested 
that he should get himself up as a member of the 
force. Our little stratagem succeeded to perfection. 
Mrs. Hicks — that is her name, I believe — was terrified 
and let us in at once. Then we found your box, and 
I sent Wilfred away with it while I stayed and wrote 
my note to you. Oh, what a time we had over your 
papers! You really are very clever, Mr. van Zwieten. 
What a lot the Foreign Secretary would give to see 
what we saw; and, as it happens, he is a personal 
friend of mine. I might sell it, you know,” she went 
on coolly. “ 1 am poor enough now, and they would 
give me a good price.” 

“ Not such a price as would recompense you for 
what I could say about your husband,” retorted the 
Dutchman. 

She laughed gaily. ‘‘Oh, that? My good man, I 
know all about that! Do you think 1 should have 
taken the trouble to talk to you if 1 had not known 
that my husband had been doing all your dirty work ?” 

“Yes, he did my work,” Van Zwieten said viciously. 
“He was my creature — paid by me with Transvaal 
gold. You call me a spy. Lady Jane Malet. Your 
own husband was one — and not only a spy, but a 
traitor! ” 

“1 know it,” she said, and her face was very pale, 
“and for that reason 1 am glad he is dead, terrible 
though his end was.” 

“1 dare say you helped him out of the world!” 
sneered Van Zwieten. 


Exit Van Zwieten 


219 


“That is false, and you know it. I had no idea of 
what my husband was until I found his papers after 
his death. Had I known that when he was yet alive, 1 
might have killed him ! ” She clenched her hand. 
“Yes, 1 might have shot him, the mean, cowardly 
hound! He spoke against the Boers, and yet he took 
their money! ” 

“Oh, you must not blame him for that. That was 
my idea.” 

“It is worthy of you. Oh!” — she started up and 
paced the room in a fury — “to think that 1 should 
have been married to such a creature! To think that I 
should have lived on gold paid for the betrayal of my 
country! The cur! The Judas! Thank God he is 
dead.” And then, turning abruptly on the Dutch- 
man, “How did you gain him over to your side.?” 
she asked. “ Gilbert was a man once — a man and a 
gentleman. How did you contrive to make him a — a 
— thing ? ” 

“Easily enough,” he said placidly. He could not 
understand why she made all this fuss. “ Two years 
ago 1 met him at Monte Carlo. 1 watched him gamble 
and lose. 1 heard he was in the War Office, or had 
some connection with it, so 1 made his acquaintance 
and induced him to play still higher. We became 
intimate enough to discuss money matters — his, of 
course — and he told me that he was very hard up. He 
blamed you.” 

“ 1 dare say,” returned Lady Jenny, coldly. “ Go 
on.” 

“Well, I put the matter to him delicately. 1 asked 
him to find out certain details connected with your 


220 


A Traitor in London. 


military organization, and I told him he would be well 
paid for the information. 1 am bound to say he kicked 
at first, but 1 went on tempting him with bigger sums; 
and he was so desperately hard up that he closed with 
me in the end. He soon did all I wanted, and, once 
in my power, 1 trained him to be most useful, but 1 
kept on paying him well — oh, yes, 1 paid him very 
well.” 

He made this villainous confession in so cool a tone 
that Lady Jenny could have struck him. It was hor- 
rible to think that she had been the wife of so de- 
graded a creature as Van Zwieten now described her 
husband to have been, and, “ Thank God he is dead! ” 
she cried again. “ It would have been worse for both 
of us if 1 had known it while he was alive. It might 
have been 1, then, who would have fired the shot. But 
after all, 1 suppose it was better that he should fall by 
your hand!” 

The Dutchman started from his seat. am a spy. 
Lady Jenny,” he cried, “but 1 am not a murderer. I 
leave that sort of thing to you! ” 

“To me? Do you accuse me of the murder of my 
husband ? ” 

“1 do. Captain Burton, while staying at your house 
at Chippingholt, left his revolvers behind. You found 
them; you took one and stole out after your husband 
and shot him. 1 found the weapon. Do you take me 
for a fool ? Where were you when you pretended to 
go to the Rectory ? — out in the orchards tracking your 
husband! You killed him because he was in love with 
Mrs. Scarse. Deny it if you can! ” 

“ I do deny it. It was all over between him and 


Exit Van Zwieten 


221 


Mrs. Scarse before he married me. He cared so little 
for the poor woman that he did not go to her when 
she was dying. That madman, her husband, came 
down to tell Gilbert of her death. They met and had 
a struggle. I thought it was he who had killed him ; 
and indeed, if he had, I should not have blamed him. 
As it was, you were the man — you, who wanted to get 
rid of your tool! ” 

Van Zwieten threw himself back in his chair with 
a laugh. “You talk nonsense," he said roughly. 
“Why should I want to get rid of a man who was 
useful to me ? No one was more sorry than I when 
poor Malet died. Not from any sentimental point of 
view — oh, dear no! — but because he had become quite 
a necessary person to me. 1 found the revolver in the 
grass, but it was not I who had used it. If I had,” he 
added cynically, “ 1 should have no hesitation in telling 
you.” 

“You did murder him!” insisted Lady Jenny, 
fiercely. “ I know where you found the revolver — not, 
as you say, on the grass — no ! it was in the library on 
the night of the murder. Gilbert had been shooting 
at a mark in the afternoon ; and at night — at nine o’clock 
— 1 heard voices in the library. It was you who were 
with him; you, who came to take away treasonable 
papers from my unhappy husband. You got what 
you wanted, and you got the weapon, and he went 
back with you to Mr. Scarse’s cottage. You wanted 
to get rid of him without danger to yourself ; you tried 
to lay the guilt on Harold Burton to rid yourself of a 
rival ! You shot Gilbert in the orchards, and you threw 
away the revolver to implicate Harold and walked 


222 A Traitor in London. 

back to the cottage; you — you murderer! — you 
Cain! 

She stopped, half choked by her emotions. Van 
Zwieten seized the opportunity to deny once again the 
truth of her accusation. 

“ I tell you 1 did not kill Malet! ” 

“ Then who did ? ” 

“I don’t know. I thought if was Captain Burton; 
upon my soul 1 did! ” 

“Have you a soul?” Lady Jenny asked with scorn. 
“ I should doubt it. However, 1 stick to my opinion 
— I believe that you killed my husband. Oh, you need 
not look alarmed, I am not going to give you up. I 
have done all I wanted — 1 have married Harold to 
Brenda by telling him I could keep you from accusing 
him of the murder! ” 

“And can you?” sneered Van Zwieten. He was 
fighting every inch. 

“lam sure 1 can. I have your box, remember. For 
my husband’s sake I spare you now. I don’t want an 
honorable name to be smirched through him. I don’t 
want to be pointed at as the widow of a spy and a 
traitor, otherwise 1 would denounce you as the spy and 
the murderer 1 truly believe you to be. This is my 
bargain, Mr. van Zwieten. You leave England at 
once, cease to persecute Captain Burton and his wife 
and I will hold my tongue.” 

“And if I refuse ? ” he asked sullenly. 

“ If you refuse I will have you arrested as you leave 
this house. You think I can’t do that, but I can. I 
have made all my preparations. I have left nothing 
to chance. One does not leave things to chance in 


Exit Van Zwieten 


223 


dealing with a man like you, Mr. van Zwieten," she 
sneered. “Wilfred Burton is outside with a couple 
of policemen. I have only to whistle and they will 
come up." 

But Van Zwieten was not so easily bluffed. “On 
what grounds, may I ask .?" he said. “ If you wanted 
to keep this matter quiet for the sake of your husband, 
you would not have told the police." 

“I have told them nothing about your spying busi- 
ness," she said calmly. “You will be arrested on a 
charge of being concerned in the murder of my hus- 
band, and I can assure you that if you are so arrested 
I will press the charge. On the other hand, if you 
agree to my terms, I will let you go free. I can easily 
make things right with the police by telling them that 
I have been mistaken. Oh, all this is not regular, I 
know; but I have some little political influence, and I 
am using it for my own benefit — and for yours, if it 
comes to that." 

He looked at her savagely. Had he obeyed his in- 
clinations he would have wrung her neck. It was gall 
and wormwood to him to be beaten so thoroughly by 
a woman. But being in England, and not in a coun- 
try like the Transvaal, where such a trifling matter as 
murder would be winked at, he had to suppress his 
homicidal desires. Quickly reviewing the situation, 
he could see nothing for it but to yield to the superior 
power of the enemy. Twist and wriggle as he might, 
there was no chance of escaping from the trap she had 
prepared for him. The game was up and there re- 
mained only the Transvaal. 

“Well!" Lady Jenny asked imperiously, “what 


224 


A Traitor in London. 


have you to say? Will you give me your promise 
to leave Brenda and her husband unmolested and to 
leave England at once, or will you allow yourself to 
be arrested and have all the world know what manner 
of life yours has been 

“If you had me exposed, you also would suffer.” 

“ My husband’s name would be smirched. I know 
that, but I am prepared to run that risk. If I had the 
misfortune to be the wife of a scoundrel, that was not 
my fault. But I am getting tired of all this. I give 
you five minutes to make up your mind.” 

Van Zwieten assumed a cheerful demeanor. He 
would take the sting of this defeat by accepting it 
with a good grace. “ There is no need for me to con- 
sider the matter, dear lady,” he said, “I am willing to 
accept your terms.” 

“ Very good. Then you leave England ” 

“To-morrow morning.” 

“And you will make no further accusations against 
Captain Burton ? ” 

“ No. It would appear that he is innocent.” 

“And you will not annoy his wife ? ” 

“Since she is his wife, I will promise that 
also.” 

“In that case I need detain you no longer, Mr. van 
Zwieten.” 

“One moment. My papers; what about them? 
Am I not to have them ? ” 

The audacity of this demand took away the little 
woman’s breath. “No! Certainly not,” she replied 
sharply. “I should lose my hold over you if I gave 
them up. Besides, you have given quite enough in- 


Exit Van Zwieten 225 

formation to your friend Dr. Leyds. You shall not 
give any more if 1 can help it.” 

“ Then what security have I that you will let me go 
free?” 

“ You have my word. And, after all, there are no 
guarantees on either side. What security have I for 
your silence save the holding of these papers? I 
know very well that as soon as you think you are 
safe you will do what injury you can to Captain 
Burton. But I can thwart you there too, Mr. van 
Zwieten. Your wish is to go to the British camp as a 
war correspondent. You would betray all our plans 
to the enemy. Well, sir, I forbid you to stay with 
my countrymen. If I hear — as I assuredly will hear 
— that you are in our camp, I will at once disclose 
the contents of the box, and instructions shall be sent 
to the front for your arrest. I can checkmate you on 
every point.” 

“What about Captain Burton’s life? You can’t 
protect that. If you drive me to join the Boers, I can 
easily have him shot.” 

Seeing there was no more to be said, he rose to go. 
At the door he paused. “You have forced me to 
consent to what you wished,” he said, “as I can do 
nothing against the power you have unlawfully 
gained over me by stealing my papers. But I give 
you fair warning that I love Brenda madly, and that I 
intend to make her my wife in spite of Captain Bur- 
ton. Once in the Transvaal, I shall join hands openly 
with my adopted country. Then let Burton look to 
himself, for I will do my best to make his wife a 
widow.” 


226 


A Traitor in London. 


‘'The future is in the hands of God,” Lady Jenny 
said solemnly. “You can go, Mr. van Zwieten.” 

He bowed ironically and went without another 
word. He was glad to have escaped so easily; for, 
after all, he could do as he liked when he was beyond 
the reach of pursuit. Once he was in the Transvaal, 
Lady jenny might show the papers as much as she 
wished. Had she been wise, he thought, she would 
have kept him as a hostage. But she had let her 
chance slip, and he was free to plot and scheme. 
Needless to say, he intended to keep none of the 
promises he had made. 

Then he went out into the night, slipped past three 
men, whom he recognized as Wilfred and the con- 
stables, and so took his departure like a whipped 
hound. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


A TERRIBLE LETTER. 

Then succeeded a period of waiting and heart-break- 
ing expectation, which Brenda, in common with many 
of her fellow-countrymen, bore with quiet heroism. 
Glencoe, Elandslaagte, Rietfontein were fought, and 
victory crowned the British arms; but the triumphs 
were only achieved at a bitter cost. 

The eyes of the world were eagerly fixed on this 
first example of modern warfare since the Franco-Ger- 
man campaign ; and the military experts of Europe were 
anxious to learn how the use of scientific weapons of 
terrible destructive force would affect the warfare of 
the future. It was soon seen that battles would re- 
solve themselves into artillery duels, since no human 
beings could stand up against the hail of shot and 
shell hurled incessantly from repeating machines such 
as the Mauser, Nordenfelt and Maxim. That the 
British troops should brave the fury of this death- 
storm proved to the onlooking world how brightly 
the valor for their sires burned in their hearts. Even 
the grudging critics of the Continent could not with- 
hold their tribute of admiration at this matchless 
daring. 

Mr. Scarse had taken a small house, and Brenda 
lived with him. They had been very happy together 
since their reconciliation — as happy, at least, as they 
227 


228 


A Traitor in London. 


could be while Harold was at the front. He was 
with Buller, who, sheltered behind the Tugela River, 
had not yet commenced to move. How eagerly 
Brenda scanned the papers through those days of sus- 
pense! Wilfred had gone out as a war correspond- 
ent, and when his brilliant letters appeared, with what 
delight she read them over and over again. Mr. 
Scarse still denounced the war as an unjust one, and 
unnecessary to boot, and said so in public when he 
could. Seeing it was useless to attempt to alter her 
father’s views, Brenda never mentioned the subject; 
and so they got on very well together. Occasionally 
there came a letter from Harold; then Brenda was 
happy for the day, for he always wrote full of hope 
and courage. 

Lady Jenny Malet still lingered in England. She had 
let her Curzon Street house and was staying at a quiet 
hotel. Knowing, as she did, that Van Zwieten was 
not wholly crushed, she did not feel inclined to leave 
the country until she felt tolerably certain that Harold 
was safe from him. His box she kept in her own 
possession and showed to no one. Only in the event 
of Van Zwieten playing the traitor in Natal would she 
produce them. For no other reason would she smirch 
the memory of her husband. She had arranged with 
Wilfred that, if the spy were found in the British 
camp, information should be sent to her at once. Then 
she would see the authorities, and he should be dealt 
with according to martial law. She explained this to 
Brenda. 

“Wilfred is with Harold,” she said, “and he will 
look after him. Van Zwieten knows that on the first 


A Terrible Letter. 


229 

sign of his breaking his promise I shall not spare 
him.” 

“But how will that affect him out there the girl 
asked dolefully. 

“It won’t affect him if he is openly on the side of 
the enemy; but if he is spying in the British camps 
he will be taken and shot. I don’t think he can be 
with General Buller or Wilfred would have denounced 
him. He is probably at the Modder.” 

“ But he may be with the enemy 

“ He may be. I have heard nothing of him since he 
left London. He went over to the Continent — so Wil- 
fred found out — and sailed in a German liner for 
Delagoa Bay. Yes, he might be with the Boer forces, 
but I doubt it.” 

“ Why do you doubt it ? ” 

“My dear, Van Zwieten can do no harm to your 
husband except by treachery. Of course he might 
shoot him, or have him shot in open battle; but, after 
all, there would not be the same amount of certainly 
about that as there would be if he were to get rid of 
him by underhand means.” 

“It is terrible!” cried Brenda, wringing her hands. 
“ I don’t mind Harold fighting as a soldier should — all 
the other men are doing the same — but to have a 
private enemy like Van Zwieten is dreadful.” 

“I don’t think he will find it so easy to do Harold 
any harm. After all, Brenda, your husband is no fool, 
and he is on his guard.” 

“ I do wish I could go out to the front.” 

“With what object ? You could do nothing to pro- 
tect him, and he would only worry about you. Better 


230 


A Traitor in London. 


stay at home, my dear, and try to possess your soul in 
patience. It is hard, I know; but remember you are 
not the only one.” 

Brenda took the advice, and strove to calm herself 
by constant occupation. She made every sort of com- 
fort she could think of for her husband, and sent him 
everything that might by the remotest chance be use- 
ful to him. This was her great solace, and her father, 
seeing how it cheered her, gave her every encourage- 
ment. But it was a terrible time. Every day brought 
some fresh sorrow. The Belmont and Graspan vic- 
tories cheered the nation somewhat; but a period of 
gloom succeeded, and news came of Gatacre’s reverse 
and the failure of Buller to cross the Tugela. It was 
then that the suspense became almost too much for 
Mrs. Burton, for Harold was in the thick of the fight- 
ing, and on the very scene of the disasters. 

But the long-expected blow fell in due time, and, 
as usual, when least anticipated. 

One morning Mr. Scarse came down first to break- 
fast, and, as usual, eagerly scanned the papers. When 
his daughter entered the room she saw at once that 
something dreadful had happened. 

“What is it, father?” she asked, and held out her 
hand for the Daily Mail. 

“Nothing, my dear — nothing!” was his answer. 
But he kept the paper in his hand. “Only the usual 
disasters. Oh, this unholy war!” 

“Harold — oh, father, tell me the truth — he is 
wounded — dead! Oh, Harold, Harold!” 

“No, no,” cried her father, with eagerness, “ he is 
not wounded.” 


A Terrible Letter. 


231 


‘'Then he is killed! shrieked Brenda. 

“Not at all; if he were I should tell you.” 

She snatched the paper from his hand and spread it 
out; but tears blinded her, and she could not read a 
word. “ For God’s sake, tell me the worst! ” was her 
cry. “ Is my darling — is Harold ” 

“ He is missing! ” Mr. Scarse said roughly. “ Don’t 
look like that, Brenda. He may have been taken 
prisoner, and then he would be all right.” 

“Missing!” echoed the poor young wife. “Oh, 
poor Harold, pray God he is not dead! ” 

“Of course he’s not. His name would be amongst 
the killed if he were. He is missing — that is all. He 
was taken prisoner, no doubt, at the passage of the 
Tugela. Hope for the best, Brenda.” 

“Van Zwieten,” she said faintly. “I hope this is 
none of his work.” 

“Not it. If he had been in the neighborhood 
Wilfred would have let us know. This is only one of 
the ordinary chances of war. You should be' thankful, 
my dear, that he isn’t on the list of killed or wounded. 
The chances are that he is a prisoner, and in safety.” 

“I hope so! I hope so! But, father, let us go 
down to the War Office! ” 

“ The War Office will know no more than is in this 
paper.” 

“I want to make certain of that. Come, father.” 

“My dear child, you have eaten nothing. You 
must have some breakfast first.” 

“ I can’t eat.” 

“You must. Bear yourself as an Englishwoman 
should, Brenda. Think how many women there are 


232 A Traitor in London. 

at this moment mourning over the death of their dear- 
est. You, at least, have hope— it might have been far 
worse.'’ 

Brenda, agitated as she was, could not but admit the 
truth of this, and she forced herself to eat. She would 
need all her strength to bear up against this cruel blow. 
After all, as her father had very rightly said, things 
were far from being as bad as they might have been. 
Her husband’s name might have been on the list of 
those killed or dangerously wounded. As it was he 
was only missing. News of him might come at any 
time. She reproached herself with ingratitude toward 
a kind Providence. In a more cheerful frame of mind 
she finished her breakfast and got ready to go down to 
the War Office with her father. There she had an ob- 
ject-lesson in seeing the endurance of women whose 
news was as bad as it could be. If her own trouble 
was hard to bear, how infinitely harder was the lot of 
those whose dead lay on the stricken field. 

“ Father! father! ” she whispered, “ I should not re- 
pine. I am so much better off than these poor 
things! ” 

The news of the Tugela disaster had brought a large 
crowd to the War Office, and a vast number of people 
had collected in the street. Men and women were 
scanning the fatal lists, and many a heartrending sight 
did the girl see as she stood there waiting for her 
father, who had gone into the office to see if he could 
gain any definite news about his son-in-law. Outside, 
a proud old lady sat waiting in her carriage. She bore 
herself with dignity, but her face was ashen white. 
And as Brenda stood there, she saw a girl come out 


A Terrible Letter. 


233 

and stagger into the carriage. No word was spoken, 
but in a storm of weeping she threw herself on the 
old lady's breast. And the older woman neither wept 
nor cried out, but drove silently away with the dis- 
tracted girl beside her, and she was a woman who had 
given her country of the best she had to offer — the life 
of her son. 

“ Oh, poor woman! poor woman! ” wept Brenda. 

There was a silence as of death in that crowded 
office, save for now and again a low whisper or a 
stifled sob. And still the people came and went and 
came again. Brenda waited with sinking heart. 
When would her father come? Would he bring 
good news or bad ? She braced herself up to bear 
the worst. 

“ It is all right, Brenda,” she heard him say at last — 
he had come up behind her as she stood watching the 
crowd outside. “ Harold is safe! ” 

“Oh, thank God for that!” she gasped, clinging to 
his arm. “ He is not wounded, is he ? ” 

“No! He is a prisoner. He was out with a de- 
tachment of his men on patrol duty, and the Boers 
captured the whole lot. I expect he will be sent to 
Pretoria, so you need not be anxious now, my dear.” 

“ I don’t — I don’t know,” she cried feverishly. “If 
Van Zwieten is there he won’t escape so easily.” 

“ Nonsense! Van Zwieten is not omnipotent, as you 
seem to think. Thank God that your husband is safe, 
child, and don’t go out to meet your troubles.” 

“ I do — I do. I am grateful. Oh, the poor women ! 
The poor fatherless children! Oh, father, what a ter- 
rible thing war is! ” 


234 A Traitor in London. 

“ It is indeed,” sighed Mr. Scarse. “ I remember the 
Crimea and all the misery it brought. That is why I 
was so anxious to avert this war. But we are in the 
midst of it now and we must go through with it. At 
all events, Brenda, your husband is safe. There will 
be no more fighting for him.” 

“I’m sorry for that,” she said, much to his surprise. 
“Harold will eat his heart out now. I would rather 
he were fighting.” 

“You are not easy to please, my dear,” said her 
father, drily. “So far as his safety is concerned, he is 
in the best position. You need not be afraid to look 
at the papers now.” 

“I am foolish, I know, father. But I wish he had 
not been taken. I don’t want him to be wrapped up 
in cotton wool while other men are fighting.” 

“ He would agree with you there. However, you 
must look upon it as the fortune of war. He will have 
to stay where he is till peace is proclaimed, and God 
knows when that will be in the present temper of this 
misguided nation. Come home now.” 

So home they went and did their best to take a 
cheerful view of things. It was a sad Christmas for 
Brenda, and for hundreds of other women who had 
suffered far more severely than she had done. To 
hear of “peace and goodwill” was like mockery in 
her ears. She knew that the war was a just one; 
that it had been forced upon England by the ambition 
of an obstinate old man; and that in going through 
with this terrible business the country was fulfilling, 
as ever, her appointed mission of civilization. But 
even so, it was terrible to open the papers and read 


A Terrible Letter. 


235 

sad tales of grief and disaster. Hundreds of young 
lives — the flower of British manhood — were being 
sacrificed to the horrible Moloch of war; and the end 
was not yet in sight. 

Toward the end of December the nation had been 
somewhat cheered by the news of General French’s 
victory at Colesberg, but the year ended in gloom and 
sorrow and the wailing of Rachel for her children. 
And on the Continent the enemies of freedom and 
honest government rejoiced at the blows an enlight- 
ened Government was receiving. Truly, in those dark 
hours, Britannia was the Niobe of nations. But she 
set her teeth and fought on. 

No letter had come from Wilfred about his brother’s 
disappearance; neither did he mention it in the columns 
of the paper of which he was correspondent. The 
first news which Mrs. Burton received, other than from 
the War Office, was a letter which arrived one morn- 
ing with the Transvaal postmark. In fear and trem- 
bling she opened it, thinking it contained an announce- 
ment from some kind soul in Pretoria that Harold was 
dead. To her astonishment and horror it proved to 
be from Van Zwieten, and was addressed to her, 
“care of” Mrs. St. Leger. She opened it, and was 
found later on by the parlor-maid in a dead faint. 
The first thing she did on regaining consciousness 
was to read it again. As she got to the end, she heard 
her father’s step. In a tremor of excitement she ran 
to him. 

“Oh, father, look at this!— it is from Van Zwieten 
— written from Pretoria.” 

Mr. Scarse was astonished. The Dutchman was 


A Traitor in London. 


236 

the last person in the world from whom he expected 
to hear. But the cool insolence of the man seemed to 
be beyond all bounds. Putting on his glasses he read 
the letter. Brenda sat beside him, trying to control her 
excitement. And this was what he read: 

“Dear Mrs. Burton, — Your husband has been 
taken prisoner by our burghers, and is now in Pre- 
toria, and more or less in my charge. 1 write to you 
to say that unless you come out to me here, at once, 1 
will have your husband shot as a spy. There is plenty 
of evidence to allow of this being done. 1 hope, there- 
fore, that you will save his life by obeying my orders. 
If not, you may expect to hear of his death. You know 
1 never speak vainly. — Yours with all love, 

“Waldo van Zwieten.” 

“Father! ” cried Brenda, when he had finished read- 
ing this cold-blooded letter, “ what is to be done ? My 
poor boy! " 

“ It is a trick to get you out there and into his power, " 
said Mr. Scarse, in a tone of decision. “ I don’t believe 
he can do it — no, not for one moment.” 

“ But I am quite sure he can. You know how vin- 
dictive he is. Oh, how can we save Harold 

“ By seeing the authorities. I will get a request sent 
out to Kruger; he is a God-fearing man and would not 
permit this atrocity.” 

“ It will do no good,” the girl said, shaking her head 
sadly. “No, father, I dare say if such a request were 
cabled to the President he would do his best; but Van 
Zwieten would try and kill Harold in the meantime, 
and if he succeeded — as he would succeed — he would 
say it was an accident.” 


A Terrible Letter. 


237 

“I believe he is capable of anything. But what 
else is to be done.?^ You cannot obey this insolent 
demand!” 

“ I must — to save Harold! ” 

‘*Go out to Pretoria ?— impossible! ” 

“ I don’t see that,” she said fervently. “ I can go to 
Delagoa Bay by some German ship — the German ships 
go there, don’t they and from there I can take the 
train to Pretoria. It is quite simple. Then I will see 
Van Zwieten and trick him into letting Harold be under 
some one else’s care for a time. Then I shall speak to 
the President and tell him all. I am sure he will help 
me, and I shall be able to take Harold away. Then 
Van Zwieten won’t have a chance of shooting him, as 
he would have if a cable were sent. Leave the matter 
to me, father. I am a woman, and Van Zwieten is in 
love with me. I can blind him and trick him.” 

Her father looked at her in astonishment. She had 
evidently made up her mind to go out and get the 
better of the Dutchman, as she said. 

“It is a mad scheme, Brenda!” 

“It is the only scheme I can think of by which I can 
save my husband.” 

“ But, Brenda, listen to reason. Think what a 
scoundrel Van Zwieten is! ” 

“All the more reason that I should save Harold 
from him.” 

“ He might insist, as a condition of you husband’s 
safety, that you and he be divorced. These things 
can be arranged, you know. And then he would 
marry you himself. He is capable of making the 
most impossible demands.” 


A Traitor in London. 


238 

‘‘I dare say. I know he is capable of any villainy. 
But you leave the matter to me, father, and I will think 
of some scheme by which I can get the better of him. 
One thing is certain — I must go at once to Pretoria.” 

“But, Brenda, you cannot travel alone.” 

“Lady Jenny will come with me. If she will not, 
then I shall go alone. Do you think I care for ap- 
pearances when Harold is in danger of his life ? 1 will 
plead with Kruger — with his wife — 1 am sure they 
will help me.” 

“ H’m! Remember, Kruger is not omnipotent, and 
Van Zwieten is powerful. The President may not 
care to offend him. Besides, you can see for your- 
self, from this letter, that the man is still in love 
with you. Once he got you into his power he 
would stick at nothing that would make you a free 
woman.” 

“ In that case I would die with Harold. But I don’t 
believe the Boers are so uncivilized. Kruger will help 
me — 1 feel sure of it. You say he is a good man.” 

“ He is,” Mr. Scarse said. He was one of the few 
people who had fallen into this error. “Yes, if 
anything can be done, Kruger is the man who will 
do it.” 

“Then, dear father, will you make inquiries for me 
about a German ship? I want to go as soon as 
possible.” 

“Not alone, Brenda— not alone,” said her father. 
“ I will go with you. Yes, child, I will myself see the 
President. He knows how 1 have advocated his views 
in this country, and he will not refuse me this. We 
will go together.” 


A Terrible Letter. 


239 


She threw her arms round his neck. “Darling fa- 
ther,” she murmured, “how good you are. Yes, 
we will go, and save my darling from that wicked 
man. Lady Jenny outwitted him, so I will do the 
same. Oh, how astonished Harold will be to see me 
at Pretoria! ” 


CHAPTER XX. 


ON THE TRACK. 

Brenda Burton was a singularly obstinate young 
woman. Once she had decided upon a scheme she 
never rested until she had carried it through. And 
being thus minded toward the affairs of everyday life, 
how much more obstinate was she likely to be touch- 
ing a matter concerning the safety of her husband. 
Leaving Mr. Scarse to make his arrangements — and 
he had much to do — she herself ascertained full 
particulars as to the route, and the cost of the 
journey. 

“ We can make for the Canary Islands to-morrow,” 
she told her father. “There is a Castle liner leaving 
in the afternoon. There we can pick up the German 
boat, Kaiser Frit^, which goes on to Delagoa Bay.” 

“Can’t we go straight to the Cape in an English 
boat and get a steamer there to the bay 

“Oh, yes, but the other way will be quicker, 1 
think. The day after we arrive at the Canaries we 
can pick up the German boat, and we sha’n’t have 
to tranship at the Cape. I don’t think we can do 
better.” 

“Well, as you please,” said he. “I should like to 
go in the Kaiser Frit^ myself ; it would afford me an 
excellent opportunity for learning the true opinions of 
the Germans about this — to my thinking — most unjust 
war.” 


240 


On the Track. 


241 


Brenda shrugged her shoulders. “I dare say they 
will be disagreeable,” she said. “ They are so jealous 
of us, and if our country went to the wall — which 
she never will do,” interpolated she, patriotically— 
“Germany would be in a very bad position. She 
would not be the overwhelming power she hopes to 
be with France and Russia at her heels. But don’t 
let us talk politics. All I want is to make use of 
their boat to reach Delagoa Bay. Give me a check, 
father, and I will take the passages. To-morrow you 
must be ready to get as far as Southampton.” 

So, like the quick-witted woman she was, she at- 
tended to all the business, and her father found, to 
his astonishment, that he had nothing to do but step 
on board the liner. Lady Jenny Malet came to see 
them off. She could do nothing against Van Zwieten 
at present; but there was no knowing what he might 
do at any moment, and they must be prepared to 
checkmate him. So she gave Mrs. Burton a registered 
address, in case she might have to communicate with 
her, and did her best to cheer her. 

“I feel sure you will find him all right, dear,” she 
said, as she kissed the girl. “ He is not the man to be 
shot by a scoundrel like Van Zwieten. And you can 
coax Kruger into doing what you want. You are 
pretty enough to do what you like with him.” 

Brenda smiled faintly — the first smile for many 
days. “ I don’t think that will have much influence 
with a man like Kruger,” she said. 

“Nonsense, my dear. He is a man, and men are 
always susceptible. I’m sure you have had enough 
experience of that,” sighed Lady jenny. “All your 


242 


A Traitor in London. 


troubles have arisen out of that horrid Van Zwieten 
being in love with you.” 

Brenda was not much comforted by this view of 
the situation. She hoped rather to move Mr. Kruger 
by an appeal to his religious convictions, though these 
were of the stern cast of the Old Testament. How- 
ever, it was in a very hopeful frame of mind that 
she went on board the liner, and she cabled to Wilfred 
at Spearman’s Camp telling him that she was coming 
out. In the hope of making things as safe as possible 
for her husband, she cabled also to Van Zwieten. 
Surely, when he received that, he would do nothing 
at all events, until he had seen and come to terms 
with her. What those terms would be she could not 
guess. But she imagined they would include a sug- 
gestion that she should obtain a divorce from Harold. 
He was, as she well knew, quite as obstinate as his 
respected President — and with none of his morality 
or his religion. In fact, Brenda was going to Pretoria 
without any sort of definite idea save one — that some- 
how or other she would save her husband from this 
man. That was her sole object, and achieve it she 
would by hook or by crook; and she had every con- 
fidence in her own capacity to outwit the Dutchman, 
wily as he was. And the days of calm and peace on 
board the boat afforded her ample time for conjecture 
and reflection. She had grown now to hate this man 
with a hatred that would only be appeased by his 
destruction. 

They made a quick run to the islands, and the sea 
air did her the world of good. There were many 
passengers on board; but to no one of them did she 


On the Track. 


243 

in any way confide. Sad at heart, she kept very much 
to herself, and either read or indulged in her own 
thoughts. Her father was, socially speaking, anything 
but popular among his fellow-passengers. Air his 
Little England opinions he would, with the result that 
the majority of the passengers, having relatives at the 
front, gave him a wide berth. He made not a single 
convert; and all those whom he tried to argue round to 
his own way of thinking were glad enough when he 
got off at Madeira. 

The Kaiser Frit^ came up to time and Brenda soon 
found herself on the way south. She did not much 
fancy the foreign boat — officers, crew and passengers 
being all pro-Boer to a man. They were polite 
enough to the English lady, but they took no trouble 
to disguise their real opinions. The captain expressed 
some surprise that she should be going to Delagoa 
Bay, and seemed inclined to suspect some political 
significance in her doing so, though it was difficult to 
see what grounds he could have had for such an absurd 
idea. And Mrs. Burton did not enlighten him, but left 
the matter to her father. Mr. Scarse intimated that his 
daughter was going to Pretoria to nurse her wounded 
husband, an explanation which seemed to appeal to 
the sentimental Germans. After that they were in- 
creasingly polite to her. But she preferred her own 
cabin. Her father was more companionable; but even 
he found but scant pleasure in their outspoken opinions 
on the subject of England, and her inevitable downfall, 
as they put it. Even he, with his Little England pro- 
clivities, felt his patriotism awake in the most alarming 
manner at the way these foreigners jeered and scoffed. 


244 A Traitor in London. 

Smarting under the insults, he developed quite a Jingo 
feeling, much to his daughter’s amusement; and he 
ended by withdrawing himself as much as possible 
from the society of all on board. Father and daughter 
were a good deal together, and both looked forward 
eagerly to the end of a disagreeable voyage. 

One night, when they were south of the Line, they 
were on deck together. The heavens were bright 
with stars, and the great grey circle of the sea lay 
round them like a trackless desert. Most of those 
on board were down below, and the two had the 
deck to themselves. Brenda was disinclined for con- 
versation. Her mind was, as usual, full of thoughts of 
her husband, and the only feeling she seemed cog- 
nizant of was one of joy in the thought that every day 
was bringing her nearer to him. Mr. Scarse broke the 
silence. 

‘‘Brenda,” he said, “did Lady Jenny say anything 
about that murder ? ” 

“Very little. She said that Van Zwieten had 
accused her of the crime, and that she was innocent. 
Of course I told her that 1 had never dreamed of such 
a thing, and never would have credited it for one 
moment.” 

“H’m! At one time I thought myself that she 
might be guilty,” he said. “ But I know now that 1 
was wrong. That piece of crape certainly was sus- 
picious. But poor Scarse told me that in his strug- 
gle with Malet the scarf had been torn. 1 never 
noticed it myself when 1 burned it. I suppose that 
Malet kept it in his hand without being aware of it.” 

“Very likely. At all events, 1 am sure Lady Jenny 


On the Track. 


HS 

is innocent — as innocent as my uncle. He is happy, I 
hope ? " 

“In the asylum ? Yes, poor fellow, he is as happy 
as he can be anywhere. He has every comfort, and 
kind treatment. But I fear he will not live long. 
Van Zwieten gave him a fright by threatening to 
denounce him for the murder, unless he told his 
sad story. Some of it he did tell, but not all. I was 
foolish enough to relate the rest of it to Van Zwieten. 
But I had no alternative at the time. He was quite 
capable of making a scandal. Brenda, who did kill 
Malet ? Every day the thing seems to become more 
obscure.” 

“Well, father, I can’t help thinking it was Van 
Zwieten. Lady Jenny thinks so too.” 

“You don’t say so? But the revolver— it was 
Harold’s.” 

“Harold left them — that is, he left a case of two 
revolvers behind him, and both were in the library — 
in Mr. Malet’s library on that night. Van Zwieten 
came to see him, and took one of them with him — at 
least, that is what Lady Jenny thinks.” 

“ Brenda, that sounds improbable. Why should he 
kill Malet? He hardly knew him, child.” 

“Indeed, you are wrong there, father,” she said, 
“he knew him only too well. Listen!” and she 
related the story the widow had told her concerning 
her husband’s treachery toward his own country. Mr. 
Scarse was deeply indignant and indulged in language 
unusually strong for him. Little Englander though 
he was, and misguided on many points though he 
might be, he was an honest and an honorable man; 


246 A Traitor in London. 

and he could not understand how a man in Mr. 
Malet’s position could have so deliberately played the 
part of traitor. When he was in possession of all the 
facts, he quite agreed with Brenda that Van Zwieten 
was the culprit.” 

“Then we’ll bring him to book,” he said angrily. 
“I will force him to confess.” 

“That will do no good, father. The truth cannot 
come to light without the story of Mr. Malet’s 
treachery being known; and Lady Jenny is more than 
anxious to avoid that. No, Van Zwieten must be left 
to the punishment of his own conscience.” 

“1 don’t think that will trouble him much,” Mr. 
Scarse said grimly. “Howl have been deceived in 
that man! I am sure, when 1 tell Kruger his true 
character, he will have nothing to do with him.” 

Brenda did not contradict this statement, although 
she felt pretty certain that the foxy old President was 
very little better himself. How her father could 
reconcile the opinion he held that Kruger was an 
honest, harmless old man with the fact that he had 
forced this terrible war upon England was more than 
she could understand. She wondered if, when her 
father got to Pretoria, his discovery of the true aims of 
the Transvaal Government would be at all modified. 
But of this she had her doubts. He was the most 
obstinate of men, and an angel from heaven could not 
have altered his opinion once it had been formed. 
Knowing this, she never argued with him. It was 
absolutely futile, and only caused trouble. 

At the Cape the vessel stopped for a time. Brenda 
did not go ashore. She felt too sad and heavy at 


On the Track. 


247 


heart to take any interest in the sight of new scenes 
and new people. She sat on the deck and looked at 
the smiling land, at the glitter of the water as it 
danced in the hot tropical sun. The azure of sky and 
sea, the transports, merchant ships, and men-of-war, 
the whiteness of the city set in groves of green, the 
whole lying under the shadow of Table Mountain, all 
went to form a picture unsurpassable in its peculiar 
beauty. It was her first sight of Africa. But it might 
be Harold’s grave, and she hated it for its very beauty. 
She would have had all Nature mourn for her dear 
one. 

Mr. Scarse went on shore and returned with the 
latest war news. The tactics seemed to be mostly of 
a defensive order. General French had driven back a 
Boer force which had attacked Colesberg; and the 
gallant Ladysmith garrison had repelled a terrible as- 
sault. The Cape Town people were in high glee over 
this last success, anticipating, as they did, that the 
Boers would now be disheartened. And no doubt it 
might have had this effect fora time; but the Teutonic 
race is not so easily beaten or discouraged. Mr. 
Scarse remarked on this when they left for Delagoa 
Bay. 

“The difficulty of this war,” he said, “is, that for 
the first time Teuton is fighting against Teuton. The 
very dogged courage which has enabled us to win so 
many battles against the Latin nations is being used 
against us by the Boers. We do not know when we 
are beaten either. But this will not be the easy task 
we thought, and the struggle will go on till one or 
other of the combatants is utterly crushed.” 


4 


A Traitor in London. 


248 

“Oh, England will win! ” Brenda said confidently. 

“ I believe she will. I can’t imagine England being 
beaten. But, as I said before, it will be no easy task. 
By this time they have found that out. My wonder is 
that they could not see that England had met a foe 
with courage and determination equal to her own. If 
she conquers, it will be one of her greatest achieve- 
ments.” 

“She will conquer,” his daughter repeated, and she 
refused to discuss the subject further. That Britain 
could fail never entered her head. 

The Kaiser Frit:^ did not stop at Durban, some- 
what to the astonishment of Mr. Scarse, as he had un- 
derstood that it was customary, and on applying to 
the captain he received a gruff and discourteous reply. 
The man seemed anxious, and was always sweeping 
the sea with his glass. There was one other English- 
man on board, and Mr. Scarse asked him if he could 
make out what all this anxiety and incivility meant. 

“Perhaps she’s got contraband goods on board. 
Ammunition and guns,” was the reply. “These 
boats usually call at Durban! My own opinion is that 
the captain does not want to have his ship searched.” 

“ But, my dear sir, Germany is neutral.” 

“I dare say,” the young fellow said with a grin. 
“Germany is anything that suits her book. If she can 
smuggle in ammunition to assist the Boers you may be 
sure she will do it. My good sir, what with mer- 
cenaries in the Boer army, bread-stuffs, ammunition, 
guns and rifles being imported, we are fighting, not 
only the Transvaal, but the entire Continent of Europe. 
The Powers would give their ears to see us smashed! ” 


On the Track. 


249 


This was a somewhat new view to take of the 
matter, and one which did not commend itself to Mr. 
Scarse. He had looked upon the Boers as a handful of 
honest, God-fearing farmers — his favorite expression 
when speaking of them — struggling for their freedom 
against the overwhelming power of Great Britain. 
That they had colossal armaments, hundreds of 
mercenaries, and clever agents scheming for them all 
over the world, had never entered his head. In further 
conversations with this young Englishman he received 
considerable enlightenment, and he began to modify 
his views somewhat as to the absolute guilessness of 
Oom Paul and his gang. But he kept his opinions to 
himself. 

The Kaiser Frit:(^ did not slip past Durban as her 
captain had expected. When at dawn she was almost 
abreast of that port she was brought to by an English 
cruiser. There was a polite signal to “Heave to!” 
and the German captain, with much bad language, felt 
himself forced to comply with the request. The news 
travelled quickly through the ship, and every one came 
on deck, amongst the foreigners being Brenda and her 
father and the young Englishman. The Germans 
were savage, and talked a great deal about the insult 
to the flag of the Fatherland. Abuse of England was 
rife, and as she listened Brenda felt her blood boil. 

Under the saffron sky of the dawn lay the menacing 
form of the cruiser, displaying the glorious flag of 
England. Across the deep blue of the sea came a large 
boat manned by the blue-jackets, and no sooner were 
they alongside than a smart officer jumped on deck 
with a request to see the papers of the Kaiser Frit^. 


250 


A Traitor in London. 


The captain blustered and swore in high and low 
Dutch ; but the officer, though scrupulously polite, was 
quite firm. At last the papers were produced and ex- 
amined, but no contraband goods appearing on the 
manifest, the vessel was allowed to proceed on her 
way, to the unbounded delight of the captain, whilst 
the English officer swore under his breath. The latter 
felt confident that there were guns and ammunition on 
board, and that the manifest was false. However, he 
had to appear satisfied, and prepared to retu’rn to his 
ship. But before leaving, he asked if Mr. Scarse and 
Mrs. Burton were on board. 

“lam Mr. Scarse,” said that gentleman, a good deal 
surprised to hear his name suddenly spoken by this 
stranger, “ and this is Mrs. Burton. But how did you 
know we were here ? ” 

“I will explain that when you are on board our 
boat, sir.” 

“ But we are going on to Delagoa Bay,” said Brenda. 

“In search of Captain Burton?” returned the lieu- 
tenant. “ In that case there is no need for you to go 
further. Captain Burton has escaped, and is now at 
Durban.” 

Poor Brenda nearly fainted at this joyful and unex- 
pected news; but the eyes of the ship — envious foreign 
eyes — were upon her, and she struggled bravely to 
keep herself in hand. The officer repeated his infor- 
mation, and asked them to get their things together 
with all speed as the German was anxious to proceed. 
Hardly believing the joyful news that Harold was out 
of the power of Van Zwieten, father and daughter 
went below, hastily got together their belongings, and 


On the Track. 


251 

were soon on their way to the cruiser. The Germans 
gave vent to an ironical “ Hoch! ” 

“Brutes!” muttered the lieutenant. “Give way, 
men! Are you comfortable, Mrs. Burton 

“Quite — thank you,” she said; “but how did you 
know I was on board that Kaiser Frit:^? How did 

Captain Burton escape.^ How did ” 

“You will get answers to all these questions on 
board the Juno, Mrs. Burton. But I may tell you that 
we expedted to find you and Mr. Scarse on board the 
Kaiser Frit^^. Of course we came in search of con- 
traband; but we were able to kill two birds with one 
stone by picking you up as well. I am very glad of it 
too! ” and the young man, who had the true sailor’s eye 
for beauty, looked as though he meant what he said. 

The boat slipped under the grey bulk of the cruiser, 
and they were assisted up the side — a matter of some 
difficulty in mid-ocean — and were received by the cap- 
tain. Then he anxiously asked for his officer’s report 
concerning the suspected contraband. It was evi- 
dently a disappointment to him, and full steam ahead 
for Durban was then ordered. The boat was swung 
on the davits, the screw revolved, and in a few mo- 
ments the Juno was getting along at a great rate. 
Then the captain took Brenda by the arm and led her 
down to a cabin. 

“You know that your husband has escaped, Mrs. 
Burton.?” he asked, smiling. 

“Yes, but how did he get away? I feel so be- 
wildered at all ” 

“Will you walk in there, please?” was the reply. 
“ Some one is waiting to explain.” 


252 


A Traitor in London. 


Brenda began to tremble. Something told her 
what she might expect. As she entered, she saw a 
man in khaki, tall and slim, waiting for her with out- 
stretched arms. She uttered a cry of joy. '‘Oh, 
Harold! Harold! my darling boy! At last! at last! ” 
And she fell into her husband’s arms. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


IN SOUTH AFRICA. 

It was indeed Harold — thinner, perhaps, than when 
he had left England, but bronzed and hardened, and 
fit in every way for the arduous work of the campaign. 
Brenda clung to him as though she would never let 
him go. She looked upon him as one who had been 
snatched from the jaws of death; and assuredly he 
would have found a grave in Pretoria had he been 
left to the tender mercies of Van Zwieten. He, on his 
side, was delighted and moved beyond words at her 
tenderness, and at her pluck in undertaking a toilsome 
and dangerous journey to be near him. It was some 
time before husband and wife recovered themselves 
sufficiently to exchange confidences. Brenda cried in 
spite of her brave spirit, for the joy of this unexpected 
meeting had shaken her nerves. When she had re- 
gained her composure, and was able to speak, it was 
to congratulate her husband on his escape from 
Pretoria, and from the dangerous custody of Van 
Zwieten. He laughed outright. 

“That is just where you make the mistake, my 
love!” he said. “I never was in or near Pretoria, 
and I have seen nothing of Van Zwieten since I left 
England. What on earth makes you think so ?” 

She sat down and looked at him in astonishment. 
“ I don’t understand you,” she said. “ You were re- 
253 


254 A Traitor in London. 

ported missing. I went to the War Oifice myself and 
made certain that the report was correct." 

“That is true enough. I was out on patrol duty 
with a small force while the General was trying to 
force the passage of the Tugela. A party of Boers 
took us by surprise and captured us; but after a week 
in their custody 1 was lucky enough to escape. I’ll 
tell you all about it later. What 1 want to know now 
is how you come to be out in these parts." 

“Don’t you know? Van Zwieten wrote to me 
saying that you were at Pretoria and under his 
charge, and that he would have you shot if 1 did not 
come out to see him. Father and 1 set off at once, 
and we were on our way to Pretoria to see the Presi- 
dent and implore him to save you from that man." 

“ Brenda, are you sure of what you are saying? It 
is all new to me." 

“Here is his letter. I always carry it with me. 1 
was going to show it to Kruger when I saw him." 

Harold took the letter, which his wife produced 
from her pocketbook, and read it with a frown. 
“ Well, he is a scoundrel! " he remarked as he gave it 
back to her. “Of course, it is a trap, and a very 
clever one. 1 suppose he heard that 1 was missing, 
through the Boer spies, and he turned the information 
to his own advantage. Don’t you see, Brenda, he 
wanted you to come out to the Transvaal so that you 
might be in his power.” 

“The beast! " cried she, crimson at having been so 
tricked. “1 assure you, Harold, 1 believed the letter 
was written in all good faith. The War Office said 
you were missing, and I thought you would be trans- 


In South Africa. 


255 

ferred with the other prisoners to Pretoria. That 
Van Zwieten should be there, and that you should be 
in his power, did not surprise me in the least. 1 
never dreamed for a moment that it was a trick. Oh, 
how lucky it was that you were able to stop me! 
How did you know I was on board the Kaiser 
Frit:^ ? " 

“Easily enough. You cabled to Wilfred telling 
him so. He was at Spearman’s Camp at the time, 
and so was I. When he showed it to me I could not 
understand at first how it was that you were going to 
Pretoria; but it struck me that, as I was reported 
missing, you might think that I had been transferred 
to the Transvaal capital. 1 made up my mind that I 
would stop you at Cape Town. My first idea was to 
wire to meet you there; but the General wanted 
some one to send down to Durban about some busi- 
ness, and 1 contrived to have myself selected for the 
task. There 1 heard that the Kaiser Frit^ was sus- 
pected of having contraband on board, and that she 
would be stopped by the Juno. 1 knew the captain, 
and 1 told him all about you and your journey out 
here. He was good enough to have me on board; 
and so it all came about. Oh, my dear wife!" he 
cried, clasping her in his arms, “ how thankful I am 
that you are safe. If I had heard that you were at 
Pretoria, and in the power of that villain, it would 
have driven me silly." 

“He is a bitter enemy," she said. “I should have 
killed him if he had done you any harm." 

“ I was never in any danger of my life, dearest— at 
least, not from him." 


A Traitor in London. 


256 

“No; I see it now.” She paused, and then went 
on. “After all, I can find it in my heart to forgive 
him, even for this trick, since it has brought me to 
you. I won’t go home again until you do.” 

“But, my darling, I must go to the front. I leave 
Durban to-morrow. You can’t come with me.” 

“Yes, I can — and I will,” she insisted. “Oh, I 
know what you would say, that it is not a woman’s 
place; but it is a woman’s place, and her duty, to nurse 
the wounded, and that is what 1 shall do. I know a 
good deal about nursing, and I’m sure the doctors will 
let me help; they can’t refuse.” 

“ But think of the terrible hardships ! ” 

“ It is far more hardship for me to have to sit at 
home when you are in danger. At least, I shall be 
near you; and perhaps, if Van Zwieten does any more 
of his plotting, I may be able to frustrate him. It is no 
use your looking at me like that, Harold; I won’t leave 
you again. You are all I have in the world. If you 
were to die I should die also.” 

“There is your father.” 

“ Yes, father is very dear to me, now that we under- 
stand one another, but he is not you. Oh, my love, my 
love, don’t send me away again! It will break my 
heart to leave you!” She paused, then added, de- 
fiantly, “I won’t go, there!” 

He laughed, and he tried to persuade her to stay at 
Durban or Pietermaritzburg, where she would be in 
comfort and safety; but he might have saved his 
breath. To the front she would go, and nothing 
would move her. In the end — as might have been 
expected — she got her own way, and her husband 


In South Africa. 


257 


promised that she should go with him up the Tugela, 
if he could procure passports for her and her father. 
He admired her spirit more than a little, and he was 
only too glad to have her with him ; but it was against 
his better judgment that he consented. However, 
there was this to be said — she would be in no greater 
danger from the intrigues of Van Zwieten at the front 
than she would be at Durban. After all, it might be 
as well, with such an enemy, that she should be beside 
her husband. 

“Then that’s all right,” she said, taking this hardly- 
earned consent quite as a matter of course. “ And now 
tell me how you managed to escape from the Boers ? ” 

“Well, it came about in this way. As you may 
guess, when we found ourselves surrounded we made 
a hard fight for it. We killed a few of the enemy. A 
boy of seventeen rushed at me; he fired, but missed, 
and 1 had him at my mercy. I raised my revolver, but 
I could not bring myself to shoot so young a lad. 
When he was about to fire again — for I was turning 
away — I managed to knock him down. Then we 
were overpowered and had to lay down our arms. 
The lad I had spared proved to be the son of the Boer 
leader, a fine old fellow called Piet Bok. He was so 
pleased with me that he offered to let me go free; but 
I could not leave my men. Then, when we were 
about to be sent on to Pretoria, he renewed his offer. 
I had by this time been separated from my men, so 1 
accepted. He had kept me all the time under his own 
charge, and had treated me very well. So one night 
he led me out of their camp, gave me a horse and gun, 
and sent me on my way.” 


258 A Traitor in London. 

“ God bless him! ” cried Brenda, fervently. 

“ 1 was in the Tugela district,” he continued, some- 
where in the neighborhood of a place called Spion Kop, 
which has been very strongly fortified by the Boers. 
The country was swarming with the enemy, and it 
was dilficult enough to find my way back to camp; 
then my map — thanks to our Intelligence Department 
— was all wrong. By day I hid in gullies and behind 
kopjes, and kept my eyes open. I managed to fetch 
the river, but I could not get over at first. Then one 
night I determined to make the best of a bad job, so I 
made my horse swim for it. The current was strong, 
and it was pretty hard work to keep on at all; but at 
last 1 was forced to let go, and I was swept by the 
current on to the further side. I kept myself hidden 
all through that day, and got on when night came. I 
reached our camp about dawn, and was very nearly 
shot by a sentry. However, I made myself known, and 
got in safely. I was dead beat too.” 

“ My poor Harold, how you have suffered! ” 

“ Nonsense. Don’t make a fuss over a little thing 
like that. You must be a true soldier’s wife and laugh 
at these things. But now that I have told you every- 
thing, and we have settled what is to be done, I must 
see your father.” 

They found Mr. Scarse on deck with the captain. 
He received Harold with unaffected pleasure. 

“I am thankful to see you alive,” he said. “The 
captain has been telling me all about your miraculous 
escape.” 

“lam glad to be able to strike another blow for Old 
England, sir; but I have to thank you for your kindness 


In South Africa. 


259 

in coming out. You were going into the very jaws of 
the lion to find me! ” 

“To Pretoria — yes," he said simply. “But 1 am 
glad there is no need to do that. And yet 1 should 
have enjoyed meeting Kruger." 

“You shall see him when we take the capital," 
Harold said. “Brenda has made up her mind to stay 
until the end of the war." 

“ Brenda ? — what nonsense! " 

“Oh, 1 must, father — if only to protect Harold from 
Van Zwieten." 

“Ah! Van Zwieten! What about that letter, 
Harold.?" 

“ A trap, Mr. Scarse; a trap to catch Brenda! " 

“Why, the man’s a villain!" 

“He is all that. 1 hope to get a shot at him some 
day; 1 have a long score to settle with the brute! ” 

“1 agree with you. 1 hope you will," Mr. Scarse 
said emphatically. “Punish the scoundrel! Do you 
know that it was he who murdered Malet ?” 

“No, really.? — 1 suspected as much; but he accused 
me, you know, at Chippingholt. That was why 1 went 
away so suddenly. 1 could not face Brenda with that 
hanging over me." 

“You should have trusted me, Harold,” she said 
somewhat reproachfully; “1 never would have be- 
lieved you guilty.” 

“1 was wrong, 1 know dear, but for the moment 1 
lost my head. You see he had got my revolver, and 
with that apparently the murder was committed.” 

“ It was, and by Van Zwieten himself. You left the 
revolver at the Manor.” 


26 o a Traitor in London. 

“I did, the last time I stayed there. I left two in a 
case.” 

“The case was in the library, and he must have 
taken one of them out.” 

“Why — in Heaven’s name.^” 

“Ah, that is a long and painful story,” Mr. Scarse 
said significantly. “You tell it, Brenda.” 

And so Brenda related the story of Malet’s treachery, 
and the reasons which had led Lady Jenny to conceal 
the dead man’s shame. 

Harold could hardly contain his indignation when he 
heard that an Englishman had acted so base a part. 
To be'bought and sold by a scoundrelly Dutchman; to 
be the creature of a foreign power; and all the while to 
be acting the role of Judas toward the land which had 
borne him — these things were almost beyond the 
soldier’s comprehension. 

“I’d have shot him with my own hand,” he cried, 
striding to and fro, “the low blackguard! The most 
honest action Van Zwieten ever did in his life was to 
kill the wretch.” 

“Don’t talk so loud, Harold!” said his wife; “we 
must keep this to ourselves for Lady Jenny’s sake.” 

“Yes, you are right, Brenda; and I will make quite 
sure of the silence of Van Zwieten by shooting him at 
sight. I am certain to come across him, and when I do 
I’ll finish him; not because he murdered Malet, but 
because he tempted him to be a traitor! ” 

When at last his indignation had cooled down some- 
what, Harold introduced his wife to the captain and 
the other officers. Without revealing too much, he 
related how, hearing he had been taken prisoner, and 


In South Africa. 


261 

that he was at Pretoria, she had started out in search 
of him, when she had been intercepted by the Juno. 
And she received so many compliments on her pluck 
that she blushed as she had never before blushed in her 
life. Her beauty was greatly admired by the susceptible 
tars; and Harold was considered a lucky fellow to have 
so charming and clever and brave a wife. Mr. Scarse, 
after all he had recently heard of the Boers, was not 
inclined to champion them quite so openly, and there- 
fore he got on well enough. On the whole, the short 
voyage was most enjoyable, and recompensed Brenda 
for all that she had suffered on board the Kaiser Frit:!^. 
Indeed, it was with great regret that she left the Juno 
at Durban. And she vowed ever after that sailors 
were the finest and most delightful of men. Harold 
reminded her laughingly that she belonged to the junior 
branch of the Service. When they were leaving, the 
captain gave Captain Burton a parting word of warning. 

“See here!” he said, with a broad smile, “don’t 
you lose any more of our guns or fm blest if we won’t 
take up the war ourselves,” whereat Harold laughed, 
though in truth the shaft went home. 

He parted excellent friends with his hosts, and as 
for Brenda, the officers gave her three hearty cheers 
as she stepped off the Juno at Durban; and the blue- 
jackets grinned and thoroughly endorsed their officers’ 
good taste. 

They found out the best hotel in the place, and took 
up their quarters there for the short time they had to 
spend in Durban before leaving for the front. Harold 
went off to see if he could get a permit for his wife 
and her father to accompany him. Meanwhile, they 


262 A Traitor in London. 

wandered about the town together. This was Brenda s 
first experience of Africa, and she enjoyed it. It was 
as though she had dropped on to a new planet. The 
wide streets, with the verandas before the shops, the 
troops, the throng of Kaffirs, and the brilliant color of 
the whole scene amused and delighted her beyond 
words. The air was full of rumors of what was do- 
ing at the front. False reports and true came in 
frequently, so there was no lack of excitement. Even 
Mr. Scarse caught the fever and was not half so eager 
in his denunciation of the Government as he had been. 
Moreover, he was beginning to find out that the Boers 
were not the simple, harmless creatures Dr. Leyds in 
Europe was representing them to be. In the smoking- 
room of the hotel he heard stories about them which 
made what remaining hairs he had stand upright with 
horror. On mature consideration it seemed to him 
that if the Government handed back South Africa to 
the Boers, as the Little England party wished, the clock 
of time would be put back a hundred years, and the 
black races would be exterminated. In his dismay at 
this idea, Mr. Scarse could not help revealing some- 
thing of what he was feeling to his daughter. She 
was delighted at his return to what she called a sane 
state of mind, and she openly expressed her pleasure. 

“I wish you could bring out a dozen men or so, 
father — men of your party, I mean. It might teach 
them that England is not so invariably in the wrong as 
they seem to think.” 

“ My dear,” he confessed with some show of peni- 
tence, “I fear our race is too insular; we have many 
things to learn.” 


In South Africa. 


263 

“We have not to learn how to colonize or how to 
fight, father,” she said, with true imperial spirit. “It 
is my belief that Providence gave us those gifts that 
we might civilize the world. If our Empire were to 
dwindle to nought it would be a bad day for the 
world.” 

“Yes, my dear, it would. After all, we are the 
only nation that thinks twice before we do any- 
thing.” 

In short, Mr. Scarse was rapidly turning his back 
upon the old narrow views to which he had so long 
clung, and with a boardening mind the true meaning 
of the Imperialistic policy was becoming apparent. 
Discarding the parish politics of Clapham, he took to 
looking around him well; and in doing so he found 
much to occupy his thoughts. Old and crusted ideas 
cannot easily be dislodged, and — to use Oliver Wend- 
ell Holmes’s image — Mr. Scarse had been polarized 
for years. 

Harold succeeded in getting the permit for his wife 
and father-in-law to go to the front, and it was ar- 
ranged that they should start the next day. In the 
morning Captain Burton went about his military busi- 
ness — for he had to carry a report concerning some 
stores back to his general — and Mr. Scarse being oc- 
cupied in a political discussion with a South African 
whom he had met at the hotel, Brenda thought she 
would take a stroll. She bought a few things she 
wanted, explored the principal streets, and — as she had 
ample time — turned her attention to the suburbs. It 
was very hot, and she walked slowly under the blaze 
of the African sun. The red dust rose in clouds; there 


264 A Traitor in London. 

was a drowsy hum of insects all around, and patient 
oxen toiled along the dusty roads. There were plenty 
of Colonials about, and a good deal of attention was 
attracted to Mrs. Burton both on account of her great 
beauty and her dress. Now and again a body of 
soldiers in khaki would march through the streets fol- 
lowed by a crowd of people. The Kaffirs lined up 
under the verandas, and grinned from ear to ear as the 
“ rooibaatjes ” went by, although they missed the red 
coats which had procured them that name from the 
Boers. From what she could gather Brenda learned 
that these Kaffirs were all in favor of the English cause, 
for they both hated and dreaded the Boers. And small 
wonder, considering how they were terrorized by the 
inhuman sjambok. 

At length, getting tired of novelty, Brenda turned 
her steps back to the hotel. It was drawing near mid- 
day, and she wanted something to eat before they left. 
As she took a turning up a side street which led into 
the principal thoroughfare, she saw a man standing 
under a veranda — a tall, bulky man with golden hair 
and golden beard, and he was coolly watching her. 

A shiver passed through her as she caught sight of 
him. For it was her enemy, Van Zwieten. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


AT THE FRONT. 

Van Zwieten’s sins had evidently made no differ- 
ence in his fortunes. He appeared to be flourishing 
like the proverbial green bay tree. He was dressed 
in a smart riding suit, with long brown boots, and 
a smasher hat of the approved Boer type. Quite 
unabashed at sight of Brenda, he crossed the road 
with an impudent smile and held out his hand. She 
shot one glance of indignation at him, and drew aside 
as though to avoid contact with an unclean thing — 
a proceeding which appeared to cause the man some 
shame, although he tried to assume an air of uncon- 
cern and amusement. 

“You won’t shake hands with me, Mrs. Burton ?” 
he said, quite jauntily. 

“ How dare you speak to me ? ” she said, drawing 
back. “ I wonder you are not ashamed to look me in 
the face after that trick about the letter.” 

“Ah! that was what the Boers call ‘slim,’” he 
said, wincing, nevertheless, at her open contempt for 
him. “All’s fair in love and war, you know, but 
your husband has been rather in advance of himself 
on this occasion, and the plot has failed. Yes, you 
see I admit that it is a plot, and I admit that it has 
failed.” 

“ I have nothing to say to you,” said Brenda, coldly, 

' 265 


266 


A Traitor in London. 


“except to tell you that if you attempt to molest 
either my husband or myself further 1 shall have you 
arrested as a spy.” 

He looked uneasily down the road and at the stern, 
set faces of the passing soldiers. He knew that from 
such men as they he might expect precious little 
mercy once the word spy had gone out against him, 
followed by damning evidence of his complicity. 
Boer treachery had to be avenged; there had been 
plenty of it about, and he did not fancy being a scape- 
goat for others. 

“My dear Mrs. Burton,” he went on calmly, “I 
wonder you spare me at all. Why not have me 
arrested now and have done with it ? 1 am com- 
pletely in your power, am 1 not? You have but to 
raise your voice and the thing would be done. In- 
deed, 1 am not at all sure that 1 should reach the jail 
alive. They hate spies here, and it is true they have 
good reason to. You may not have such a chance 
again, so cry out upon me now and revenge yourself 
on me once and for all for my crime — my crime of 
loving you.” 

“No, I will not,” replied Brenda, firmly; “but I 
give you fair warning, Mr. van Zwieten, that if you 
do not leave this place immediately 1 shall at once in- 
form the authorities about you. In luring me to 
Pretoria you made one mistake; you thought 1 should 
come unprepared. 1 did no such thing. 1 have ample 
evidence with me to prove that in London your oc- 
cupation was that of a spy. Lady Jenny gave me the 
papers.” 

“ I’m very much obliged to Lady jenny. I’m sure,” he 


At the Front. 


267 

said, with a bow. “At Pretoria — for Oom Paul — 
you could hardly have brought credentials calculated 
to speak more highly in my favor. He would be 
quick to appreciate my services.” 

“Why did you wish me to come to Pretoria.? 
You know I am married.” 

“Yes, I know you are married; but marriage can 
be severed as all else is severed — by death,” he said 
significantly. “If you had come to Pretoria — but 
there is no need to talk about that,” he broke off im- 
patiently. “I was duly informed that your husband 
was missing, but he escaped before I could reach the 
Tugela and myself take him to Pretoria, where he 
would have been completely in my power. I wrote 
the letter thinking you would really find him there. 
But he escaped and got your telegram — the one 
you sent to Wilfred Burton. I followed him down 
here, and learned how he intended to intercept the 
Kaiser Frit:(^. You see I am well informed, Mrs. Bur- 
ton.” 

Brenda was astonished at the extent of the man’s 
knowledge and the dogged fierceness with which he 
seemed to follow her and Harold. She wondered if 
it would not be wise to have so dangerous an enemy 
arrested at once. But the thought of Lady Jenny 
and the shame which it would bring upon her through 
the deeds of her late husband — which Van Zwieten 
would assuredly reveal in such a contingency — pre- 
vented her from deciding upon so severe a course. 
Later on she had reason bitterly to regret that she had 
not acted upon her first impulse. Had she done so 
it would have saved both her husband and herself 


268 


A Traitor in London. 


endless trouble. Van Zwieten half guessed what 
was in her mind, but he made no move, and seemed 
quite content to abide by her decision. There was 
even a smile on his face as he looked at her. Villain 
as he was, his courage was undeniable. The pity was 
that such a virtue should not have been linked to 
others. But then that was the man all over. He was 
a belated Conrad the Corsair. “A man of one 
virtue and ten thousand crimes.” Yet another virtue 
might be added. He loved Brenda, and he loved her 
honestly. 

“1 see you know your business as a spy, Mr. van 
Zwieten,” she said coldly. “ But all your work is 
thrown away. If you succeeded in killing my 
husband, as you seem anxious to do, 1 should kill my- 
self! ” 

Van Zwieten turned a shade paler. For once he was 
moved out of his attitude of sneering insolence. “ No, 
no,” he said hoarsely, “do not think of such a thing! 
1 won’t harm your husband, on my honor ” 

“ Your honor! The honor of a spy ?” 

“The honor of a man who loves you!” he said with 
some dignity. 

She shrugged her shoulders. She had not much 
belief in a love which was so selfish in its aims and 
so unscrupulous in the carrying out of them. But she 
would not argue further with him, she thought. The 
conversation was taking a turn of a personal character 
highly repugnant to her, and she moved away. 
“Well, Mr. van Zwieten, 1 have warned you! If you 
don’t leave British territory 1 shall inform the authorities 
of your London career. Good-bye! ” 


At the Front. 


269 

“Good-bye,” he said. He took off his hat with a 
grand bow as she left him. Nor did he make any 
attempt to stay her; he knew already that she was 
going to the front with her husband, and he had 
every intention of following. That she would reveal 
his true character he did not for one moment believe. 
There he had her in his power, for he would at once 
make known Gilbert Malet’s conduct, and that would 
mean shame and trouble for Lady Jenny, from which 
Brenda was more than anxious to shield her, as he 
well knew. She had been a good friend to the girl, 
and had indirectly done a great deal to bring about 
the marriage. This Dutchman had more knowledge 
of a woman’s nature than most of his sex, and he 
found it of no little service in the profession which he 
- had taken up. 

Brenda found her husband impatiently awaiting her. 
He had made all arrangements for the journey; and 
after a hasty meal they went down to the station. 
She was in high spirits. With Harold beside her, and 
the prospect of a novel and busy life in her capacity 
of nurse, she was perfectly happy. And he, still more 
of a lover than a husband, thought he had never seen 
her look more beautiful. 

Concerning the journey there is very little to say. 
There was considerable monotony about it. Some of 
the scenery was beautiful, particularly when they got 
amongst the mountains, but for the most part the 
plains extended on all sides, grey and dreary, the 
kopjes humping themselves everywhere amongst the 
karoo bushes. The dust-storms, too, were altogether 
disagreeable, and in spite of her veil and cloak Brenda 


270 


A Traitor in London. 


arrived at the camp in a very gritty condition, and 
thoroughly worn out. Her husband saw the doctor 
at once and told him of his wife’s desire to nurse the 
wounded. Her offer was gratefully accepted, for 
Brenda had had a certain amount of professional ex- 
perience which stood her in good stead now. So next 
day she took up her quarters in the hospital and went 
to work in earnest. Mr. Scarse, having been intro- 
duced to the authorities, amused himself by wander- 
ing about the camp and enjoying the novelty of his ^ 
surroundings. To a home-staying man such as he, 
the round of daily life at the front proved most amus- 
ing. 

Indeed, father and daughter were equally delighted 
with this new experience. Mrs. Burton proved herself 
a most capable nurse, and paid every attention to those 
under her charge. Her husband chafed somewhat at 
first. He did not like the idea of his wife doing such 
work; but when he saw that she really enjoyed it, and 
that she was anxious to be of use in her own way to 
those who were fighting for Queen and country, he 
made no further opposition. Moreover, he had his 
own duties to attend to, and upon the whole, husband 
and wife saw very little of each other. The few mo- 
ments they did have were therefore all the sweeter. 
And the knowledge that Brenda was near him and 
safe from the machinations of Van Zwieten was a su- 
preme satisfaction to Harold. He had yet to learn that 
the Dutchman was as active as ever, and bent upon 
getting her into his power. 

Since his failure to cross the Tugela, General Buller 
had been reconstructing his plans, and was taking 


At the Front. 


271 

ample time over the preparations. As he himself 
said, there should be no turning back this time. The 
garrison at Ladysmith was holding out bravely; but 
the messages showed that they were anxiously ex- 
pecting relief. The soldiers, held like hounds in a 
leash, were longing to get at the foe and wipe out 
their first failure. But the days passed and no move 
was made. On this side of the Tugela all was safe; 
but on the other the Boers sWarmed, although they 
kept at a safe distance from the British position. To 
Brenda, the mere fact of living in a camp in time of 
war was sufficiently exciting. 

Shortly after their arrival. Captain Burton was or- 
dered on patrol duty to scour the neighboring country 
on this side of the Tugela. He said good-bye to his 
wife and went off in high spirits. But it was with a 
sinking heart that she watched him go off on this 
dangerous duty. The arrival of Wilfred, however, 
served to cheer her somewhat. 

As has been stated, young Burton was acting as war 
correspondent for one of the London papers, and had 
been gathering information about the country around. 
He had been absent, therefore, when his brother’s 
party arrived; but when he came back the first thing 
he did was to look up Brenda at the hospital. She was 
struck at once by his healthy appearance. He seemed 
less nervous and hysterical than he had been in Lon- 
don, for the outdoor life and the vigorous exercise 
was telling upon him. But his big black eyes flashed 
as feverishly as ever; nor did they lose their restless- 
ness when Brenda told him of her meeting with Mr. 
van Zwieten at Durban. To Harold she had never 


272 


A Traitor in London. 


mentioned it, knowing too well his impulsive nature; 
but with his brother she felt it was different. He al- 
ready knew so much about the man that a little infor- 
mation more or less did not matter. But he was in- 
clined to blame her for having shown the spy any 
mercy at all. 

“ What could 1 do ? ” expostulated Brenda in dismay. 
“You know that if I had had him arrested he would 
have revenged himself by telling all he knew of Mr. 
Malet’s life, and then think how terrible it would have 
been for Lady Jenny! ” 

“She must take her chance,” he said gloomily. 
“She must be prepared to suffer all for her country. 
Van Zwieten will pick up all sorts of knowledge at 
Durban, and he may be able then to hamper our 
plans!” 

“I don’t think he will stay there, Wilfred. I told 
him that if he did not leave 1 would give information 
to the authorities. He daren’t face that! And 1 don’t 
think he will be very long in following us here! ” she 
added with a flush of anger. “He will follow us 
everywhere. 1 should not be surprised if he were 
across the river now in the hope of taking me prisoner 
when the camp is moved.” 

“ Directly the advance begins, Brenda, you must get 
back to Durban. It will never do for you to remain 
here. There’s going to be some pretty hard fighting.” 

“Yes; but not here. I shall be perfectly safe be- 
hind the British lines.” 

“ Perhaps; 1 hope so.” Wilfred looked gloomy and 
bit his nails abstractedly, a habit with him when he 
was annoyed. “1 tell you what it is, Brenda,” he 


At the Front. 


273 


burst out. “I’m very doubtful about the wisdom of 
this advance. Buller’s idea is, I believe, to cross the 
Tugela and try and pierce the Boer centre. I’m afraid 
he won’t succeed.” 

“Oh, Wilfred! Have you no more faith in the 
British soldiers than that ? ” 

“ I have every faith in the rank and file — yes, and in 
many of the junior officers, but I confess candidly that 
I don’t feel altogether the same amount of trust in our 
leaders. The mere fact of this advance having been 
decided upon goes to prove to me that they don’t 
know their business! The country between this and 
Ladysmith is precipitous — I know nothing like it out- 
side Switzerland or the Rockies — and it seems to me 
to be a mad thing to lead an army over it with heavy 
transport and all that unless that army is in over- 
whelming superiority to the opposing force — which 
we know it isn’t. The whole place is strongly forti- 
fied, and the positions that will have to be stormed are 
almost impregnable. These Boers know only too well 
what they are about. They have chosen their ground 
well. Mark my words, there will be great loss of life 
if not a great disaster. It is throwing away lives to 
attempt campaigning in this district.” 

“ But Ladysmith must be relieved! ” 

“I know; but it will never be relieved in -this way. 
Even the valor of the British soldier is powerless 
against the hail of bullets which will rain down on 
him from these natural fortresses, and ten to one he 
won’t see a single Boer to shoot at in return. They 
are devilish clever at keeping out of sight; of course, 

I am only a civilian and don’t intend to set my opinion 


A Traitor in London. 


274 

against that of the professional soldier; but there is 
such a thing as common sense, and we have not had 
enough of it about in the conduct of this campaign.” 

Brenda was impressed in spite of herself. “What 
do you think ought to be done, Wilfred ?” 

“Fall back on Durban and reconstruct the plan of 
campaign. Buller’s original idea of invading the Free 
State was by far the best. If we took the capital we 
should cut the rabbits off from their burrows, and ten 
to one the Free Staters would be disheartened. Then 
again, in that country we should have had more open 
fighting, and manoeuvring would have been child’s 
play to what it is here. It is sheer madness hurling 
line after line against these impregnable fortresses. 
Even if they are taken it can only be at terrible loss. 
Believe me, Buller’s original plan was the best — the 
only one. But I hear he was overruled. But you can 
take my word for it — if Buller makes this move there 
will be a terrible disaster.” 

Brenda seemed disturbed at this view of things. 
She could not believe that a soldier of General Buller’s 
experience could be capable of so grave an error of 
judgment. ,And yet, as Wilfred put it, this advance 
did seem to be of an unduly hazardous nature. But 
there again, Wilfred was always so pessimistic. He 
was not the man to look at anything hopefully when 
he could do the opposite. The men themselves were 
all full of confidence, she knew, and were looking 
forward to relieving their gallant comrades in Lady- 
smith within a very short time now. Wilfred must be 
wrong, she argued; it was more than likely that the 
General had some information up his sleeve that no 


At the Front. 


one knew anything about. At all events, she was not 
going to look on the black side of things. Thus she 
comforted herself somewhat. 

Harold returned from his patrolling, but only for a 
short while. Again and again he was sent out, some- 
times into the enemy’s country, and he was in the 
saddle from morning till night. Brenda saw but little 
of him, and had to put up with his continued absence 
as best she could. She had, as it happened, plenty of 
work to distract her. She was an excellent nurse, and 
did good service in the hospital, not sparing herself in 
any way. Indeed, so constantly was she employed, 
that the doctor insisted upon her taking a sufficient 
amount of exercise, and strongly advised her to ride. 
This commended itself to her, for she rode well and 
was never happier than when in the saddle. She 
managed to obtain a habit from a colonial lady who 
was also in the camp. Her husband managed to pro- 
cure for her a capital little animal — one of those active 
little ponies used by the Boers. And so she came to 
make frequent excursions into the surrounding country. 

“You must keep on this side of the river, Mrs. 
Burton,” said the doctor. “As long as you do that 
you are quite safe, even beyond the camp lines. But 
don’t cross the Tugela. Directly you do that you run 
risks. I can’t afford to lose my best nurse, you 
know.” 

Brenda looked at the sullen waters of the stream 
rolling through the melancholy veldt, and laughed. 
“ I should be a clever woman to cross that river, doc- 
tor, even if 1 wanted to. You may depend upon my 
taking every care of myself. 1 shall keep on the 


276 A Traitor in London. 

right side from sheer inability to get on the wrong 
one." 

But it was not often that Brenda was allowed to 
ride alone. She was not the sort of woman to have to 
seek a cavalier. But as the time drew near when the 
General intended to make his move, his juniors found 
they had very little leisure, and she had perforce to 
ride alone. But even so she had no fear, though her 
father worried a good deal about her. But as she al- 
ways returned safely, even he grew gradually accus- 
tomed to see her go off unattended. 

Every now and again there came upon her a feeling 
that she was being watched. She would look round 
and see a Kaffir staring fixedly at her. This happened 
on several days in succession. Yet she could not be 
sure that it was always the same man. The natives 
were all so very much alike to her that it was impos- 
sible to distinguish one from another. However, this 
espionage was in nowise aggressive; on the contrary, 
if espionage it were, it was done very skillfully. It 
might be even pure fancy on her part, for ever since 
that meeting with Van Zwieten in Durban her nerve 
was anything but steady. At all events, she decided 
not to say anything to her husband about it lest he 
should forbid her excursions altogether, and now that 
she had taken to riding again she was very loth to give 
it up. 

She wondered if it might be possible that Van 
Zwieten was about. It was possible — just possible, 
but she thought not probable. He would know that 
Wilfred was in the camp, and that he would have no 
hesitation in denouncing him as a spy; and for that 


At the Front. 


in 


reason she did not think he would be so foolish as to 
trust himself within the British lines. At least so long 
as she kept on this side the Tugela he could not molest 
her. He was no fool to risk his life in a mad attempt 
which would mean certain failure. So she comforted 
herself. But the feeling of being watched still re- 
mained with her. 

At last the order to advance was given, and the men, 
tired of inaction, joyfully obeyed. Harold had been 
absent two days on scout duty; this time across the 
river which Warren’s brigade were preparing to nego- 
tiate. He had been sent out with a small force to 
make a reconnaissance in the enemy’s country. She 
was beginning to feel rather anxious for his return. 
Despondent and full of vague foreboding as she was, 
she fancied that a ride would do her good, and she 
set out as usual, somewhere about sundown. She 
intended to go only a short way and return before it 
grew dark. The Kaffir who saddled her horse watched 
her ride out of the camp and grinned evilly. 

Behind the rugged mountains the sky was a fiery 
red, and was barred with black clouds. The air was 
hot and sultry, and there was promise of a storm in 
those heavy masses lying in the east. Under the 
crimson glare the veldt looked grim and ominous. 
The kopjes stood up like huge gravestones; and 
where the grass failed, the sandy karoo, even more 
barren, took its place. Here and there were farm- 
houses with red walls and corrugated outbuildings, 
and the dull red light bathed the lonesome scene as if 
in blood. The oppressive feeling in the air recalled to 
Brenda’s mind that memorable night at Chippingholt 


A Traitor In London. 


278 

when Malet had been done to death. Just such an- 
other storm was impending. She began to feel nerv- 
ous as the recollection came upon her and she decided 
to return. 

For some time her pony had been restive, tossing 
his head and champing his bit. He was usually so 
quiet that she could not understand it, but just then, as 
she had made up her mind to return, he grew even 
more distressed and finally he bolted. She let him 
have his head and in nowise lost hers. She would be 
able to pull him up after a few miles. On he galloped, 
the bit between his teeth, raising the loose red sand, 
and taking her further and further away from the 
camp; past kopjes, past Kaffir huts, stone walls, sheep 
kraals, he tore. She made several attempts to check 
him, but in vain. Suddenly he put his foot into a 
hole, stumbled, and sent her flying over his head. She 
lay on the ground half stunned. The pony, relieved 
of his burden, scampered off. She was able to realize 
that she was there alone — on the k^roo, far from the 
camp, and with night just upon hei 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


A DUTCH LOCHINVAR. 

Dusty and draggled from her fall, and with a swim- 
ming head, Brenda sat on an ant-hill, wondering how 
she could extricate herself from so unpleasant a posi- 
tion. The pony was far away, lost in the shadows of 
the karoo, and she was miles and miles from camp. 
It might be that the animal would find its own way 
home, and that they would send out in search of her, but 
busy as they were with the hurry and bustle of the 
advance, it was very possible that her absence would 
not be noticed. Had her husband been there — but she 
knew that he was far away in the enemy’s country 
taking stock of the Boer movements and waiting for 
the division to come up. Wilfred was but a scatter- 
brain. She could not trust him. On the whole, she 
thought it was most unlikely that any one would 
trouble about her, or, in the confusion, even miss her. 
She was lost in the veldt. 

Fortunately she had plenty of courage; and when 
her brain had steadied from the shock she began to 
look about her. One thing was certain, she would 
not, and could not, remain in the veldt all night. If 
it was fine perhaps there would be no great hard- 
ship in that, in spite of the cold, but a heavy storm 
was coming on, and she would be drenched to the 
skin. The red sun sank down behind the hills; dark 
279 


28 o 


A Traitor in London. 


clouds labored up from the east; and the wide plain 
around her was swallowed up in the gloom. The 
place and the time were eerie; and the girl felt a 
superstitious thrill as she rose painfully to her feet, try- 
ing hard to collect her thoughts. At first it was the 
cause of the disaster which puzzled her. 

Why had the pony run away ? She had ridden 
him frequently, and there was not an ounce of vice in 
the little beast. That he should suddenly bolt with- 
out rhyme or reason was quite incomprehensible. 
Perhaps, had she looked back and seen the evil grin on 
the face of the Kaffir who had saddled him, she would 
not have been at such a loss to explain the little pony’s 
freak. 

But something she must do. She would walk on 
till she came to a Boer farmhouse, and get them to 
take her in for the night. Then she would get a 
horse and return to the camp in the morning. Per- 
haps she might even chance on some English people, 
seeing that she was in an English colony and one loyal 
to the Queen. That there were rebels there it was 
true, but not on that side of the river. Having a whole- 
some dread of their foes at close quarters, they would 
not dare to cross. So far, then, she felt safe; what 
she needed was food and shelter. Kilting up her 
riding skirt she went forth in the fast-gathering dark- 
ness in search of them. 

It was weary work plodding over the loose sand, 
and after the first quarter of a mile she was quite 
worn out. It seemed as though she would have to 
pass the night on the open veldt. Then it occurred 
to her that if she shouted some one might hear and 


A Dutch Lochinvar. 281 

come to her rescue. And if by chance she did fall into 
the hands of the enemy they would surely treat her 
kindly. Whatever his faults, the Boer was too re- 
ligious to be wholly a scoundrel. Assistance she must 
have, so straightway she hollowed her hands and 
shouted through them. Her long, shrill cry pierced 
the air time after time, but there was no response. The 
echo died away and the quiet shut down again, and 
she heard the desert talking to itself — the faint murmur 
of the wind rustling over the sand, the gurgle of the 
river, and at times the wail of a solitary bird. Again 
and again ^he shouted with a courage born of despair. 
All was silent, silent as the grave. Then a sound fell 
upon her ears. It came nearer and nearer until it took 
shape and defined itself as the steady gallop of a 
horse. 

For a moment she was afraid; but luckily she had 
with her a small but serviceable revolver which Harold 
made her carry. She drew it from her belt. She was 
prepared to use it if necessary against an enemy; even 
against herself. But perhaps it was some well-mean- 
ing and , kindly Boer, or, better still, an Englishman. 
She resolved to risk attracting his attention. Any- 
thing was better than a night alone on that desolate 
waste. Taking her courage in both hands, she cried 
again, and the galloping of the horse was now close 
upon her. Then a man’s voice shouted. She replied 
and ran forward to meet her preserver, as she prayed 
he might prove to be. Already she thanked God for 
her deliverance. She came up close with him, and 
peered anxiously through the lowering light to take in 
his features. Instantly she recognized them. Her 


282 


A Traitor in London. 


blood seemed to freeze in her veins as she did so. 
Those features she knew only too well; there was no 
mistaking that stalwart figure. That it should be he 
of all men! — Waldo van Zwieten! 

“What! Mrs. Burton?" he said politely, as he 
swung himself off his big black steed. “Well, 1 am 
surprised. This is indeed an unexpected pleasure." 
Brenda shrank back and fumbled for her revolver. 
Brave as she was, the man’s mocking suavity terrified 
her. She said not a word, but looked at him as he 
stood, strong and tall and masterful, beside his horse. 

“ Can you not speak ? " he said impatiently. “ How 
comes it that I find you here ? " 

“ My horse ran away with me and threw me," said 
Brenda, keeping at a safe distance from the preserver 
Fate had so ironically sent her. “Will you please to 
conduct me back to the camp, Mr. van Zwieten?" 

“What! and run the chance of arrest? No, thank 
you. But there is a Boer farmhouse a couple of 
miles away, near the river. I can take you there if 
you like." 

“Can 1 trust you ?" asked Brenda, in a tremulous 
voice. 

“You can trust the man who loves you." 

“ If you talk to me like that I won’t go with 
you." 

“ Then I am afraid you will have to pass the night 
on the veldt." 

“Mr. van Zwieten,” she said with dignity, “an ac- 
cident has placed me in your company, but not in your 
power. I have a revolver, and if you attempt to in- 
sult me I shall " 


A Dutch Lochinvar. 


283 


“ Kill me, I suppose.” 

“ No, but 1 will kill myself! ” 

His face twitched. He knew she would do what 
she said, and his love for her was so great that he 
would prevent that, even at the cost of his own life. 
“ You need have no fear, Mrs. Burton,” he said in a 
low tone; “1 will treat you with all respect. Get on 
my horse and we will make for the farmhouse 1 speak 
of.” 

Unpleasant as it was, there seemed nothing for it 
but to accept his offer. The position could not be 
worse, and it might be made better. So far, she 
thought, she had the upper hand; but she was puzzled 
by his politeness, and mistrusted it. However, she 
had no time to analyze her sensations, for the darkness 
was coming on apace, and the sooner she reached 
human habitation the better. 

“ I will go with you,” she said bravely; “1 will ac- 
cept your offer. I do not think you are a good man, 
and I have used hards words to you, I know; still, I 
will trust you now.” 

Van Zwieten bowed. He said no word, but held 
the stirrup for her to mount. With his assistance she 
swung herself into the saddle, and being a good horse- 
woman, she settled herself comfortably on it without 
much difficulty. 

In silence he began to lead the horse across the 
veldt. All the while she kept a tight grasp on her 
little revolver and a sharp eye on his every action. 
For some time they proceeded thus without a word. 
Then Van Zwieten laughed in a low, musical way. 
'*What a fool I am!” he said slowly. “I love you 


284 A Traitor in London. 

madly; I have you in my power, and yet I do not take 
so much as a kiss. I am a coward! ” 

Her face burned in the darkness, but she gave no 
sign of fear. 

“You call yourself a coward," she said calmly. “ 1 
call you a brave man." 

“ Oh, 1 am a spy ! " he cried scornfully. 

“ You are a spy and, for all 1 know, a murderer; but 
you are a brave man, Mr. van Zwieten, all the same, 
for you can rule yourself. 1 never thought of you as 1 
do at this moment." 

“You say that because you wish to conciliate me," 
he retorted angrily, “ not because you think so. 1 am 
not a good man. I know myself to be bad; but 1 love 
you too well to harm a hair of your head. All the 
same, 1 intend to marry you." 

“That is impossible. 1 am married already, and if 
Harold were to die — well, you know what 1 said." 

“That was only supposing I killed him," argued 
Van Zwieten. “But suppose he were killed fighting, 
as he may easily be ?" 

“Then 1 would remain a widow for the rest of my 
days. 1 love my husband. I should always remain 
true to his memory. You could never be anything to 
me. Not until this moment have 1 ever been able to 
feel the faintest glimmer of respect for you." 

“Even if that is so, 1 wonder that you choose to 
speak like that to me, situated as you are now. It is 
calculated to scatter the good intentions of a better man 
than 1." 

“1 cannot help it. I have told you I am not in your 
power. I am not afraid to die. That 1 prove by not 


A Dutch Loch invar. 285 

shooting you as you stand there. As it is, I keep these 
little bullets for myself.” 

Van Zwieten groaned. “ To think of this woman 
being wasted on a worthless fool like Burton! ” said he. 

“ He is not a fool.” 

“You may not think so. You cannot expect me 
to agree. Oh, if you had only listened to me, only 
given me a chance, 1 would have been a better man!” 

“I think you are a better man, or you would not 
have behaved as you are doing now. You are a 
strange mixture of good and bad.” 

He shrugged his shoulders. “ It often happens so,” 
he said. “Those who think to find a bad man all bad 
or a good man all good are invariably disappointed. I 
have met the best of men, and hated them for their 
meanness, just as I have met the worst and loved them 
for some delightful incongruity. We are a pie-bald lot 
indeed.” 

Then again for a few moments they went on 
silently. In the distance now could be seen a light, 
and on the wind came the barking of dogs. The 
murmur of the river continued all the while like the 
drone of the bagpipes. 

“ You see, I have not deceived you,” he said. 
“There is the farm. There are women there. The 
men are out with their commandoes — rebels, you call 
them. 1 suppose you wonder what 1 am doing here 
on this side of the Tugela ?” 

“I do, considering Wilfred Burton is in the camp, 
and it would be very easy for him to denounce you. 
You are not the man to run unnecessary risks, as a 
rule.” 


286 


A Traitor in London. 


“The risk I am running is for your sake. No, I 
won’t explain myself now. If necessary, I must show 
a clean pair of heels. That, fortunately, I am well able 
to do. But here we are at the farm. That is Tant’ 
Trana on the doorstep.” 

He lifted her from the horse, and she saw the stout 
woman whom he called Tant’ Trana waiting on the 
door to receive them. The look she gave Brenda was 
by no means one of kindly welcome. Rather was it 
full of hostility. But she seemed to fear Van Zwieten, 
and she set herself to do her best to make the English 
lady comfortable. When he had gone out to look 
after his horse, Tant’ Trana set the best she had in the 
way of food before Brenda. But the girl was utterly 
exhausted, and could not eat. She drank a cup of 
coffee, and the Boer woman watched her dourly as she 
drank it. Then it appeared that Tant’ Trana spoke 
English. 

“I am no child,” she said. “No; I have lived 
long, and the dear Lord has watched over me. But 
never did 1 expect to see an Englishwoman at my 
table. Beloved Lord, Thy wrath is heavy upon me! ” 

“I am very sorry,” said Brenda, considerably taken 
aback by this outburst. “1 won’t trouble you long — 
only till morning.” 

But Tant’ Trana continued without heeding her. 
She was so fat that it took her some time to recover 
her breath. “The dear Lord gave this land to us — to 
the chosen of Israel. And you English — you seed of 
Satan come to take it from us! ” She shook her great 
fist in Brenda’s face. “But never fear, our burghers 
shall drive you into the sea. Oom Paul is our Moses. 


A Dutch Lochinvar. 287 

Two sons and a husband have I fighting for the land 
of milk and honey. We have two thousand morgen 
and you would take it from us. Beloved Lord, let our 
Moses and his hosts smite the ungodly Amalekites! ” 

How long the old woman went on raving thus 
Brenda did not know. She began to feel sleepy: the 
face of Tant’ Trana seemed to grow larger and more 
red; then it receded and her voice seemed to grow 
more faint — to come from far away, although the 
woman was talking her loudest. Brenda had just 
grasped the idea that her coffee had been drugged 
when she lost her senses. With one last effort she 
pulled out her little revolver. It dropped from her 
hand as her head fell back. The Boer woman picked 
it up and cursed like Deborah. Senseless and white, 
Brenda lay in the big chair, Tant’ Trana looking on 
and raving the while. Then Van Zwieten entered 
the room. A smile of satisfaction flitted across his 
face. 

How long she remained thus insensible Brenda knew 
not. She came gradually to herself. Then she won- 
dered if she could be on board ship. There was a 
rocking motion, and she felt as though she were im- 
prisoned. Then her senses grew more clear, and she 
awoke to the fact that she was on horseback — in the 
arms of Van Zwieten. He held her steadily in front of 
him on the saddle, and the horse was trotting steadily 
over the grass, and a thunderous black sky was over- 
head. She uttered a cry, and gave herself up for lost. 
Once again she felt for her revolver. Van Zwieten 
guessed what she was after, and laughed cruelly. 

‘‘No, it’s not there, Mrs. Burton,” he said. “ 1 had 


288 


A Traitor in London. 


to arrange that. I’m glad, though, you’ve woke up. 

I want to have a talk with you.” 

“ Put me down! put me down! ” gasped the girl. 

“Put you down?” repeated he, clasping her the 
tighter. “ Hardly, after all the trouble I have had 
to get you here. That is too much to ask, dear 
Brenda.” 

“ Your promise — you promised to treat me well.” 

“And I have done so. As I told you, I would not 
harm a hair of your dear head. And I have not done 
so, and I will not do so. I had to drug your coffee be- 
cause I knew that by no other means should I be able 
to get you away. All’s fair in love and war, you 
know. This is both love and war. I told you that in 
Durban; don’t you remember?” 

“ Where are you taking me ?” 

“To the Boer lines; We have crossed the river; 
yes, there is a ford hard by the farmhouse. That, of 
course, was the reason I took you there. In another 
hour we shall be safe amongst my own people. 
Thence you will go to Pretoria, and then — and then, 
when the war is all over, you will marry me! ” 

“ I will die first,” she screamed, trying to struggle. 

“You will not be allowed to die. The little revolver 
looked pretty, ah, so pretty! in your hands, but it was 
dangerous. I love you too well to lose you like that. 
And now that I have you wholly in my power, you 
cannot say that I am behaving badly.” 

“Oh, put me down, do put me down! Dear Mr. 
van Zwieten, don’t spoil your good action in saving 
me on the veldt by ” 

“Saving you! Saving you! ” exclaimed the Dutch- 


A Dutch Lochinvar. 289 

man. “How innocent you are, child! Why, you 
don’t think our meeting was accidental, do you.?* I 
had you brought there. I knew exactly what would 
happen, and my calculations were not very far out, 
were they 

“You! — you! — oh, how can you tell me such a 
thing ? I don't believe it. It is a lie.” 

“Gently, please, gently,” said he, restraining her 
tenderly. She was struggling to free herself from his 
grasp, even, as she knew, at the risk of life and limb. 
“I can be cruel as well as kind. I tell you it was I 
who brought you on to the veldt. The Kaffir boy 
who attended to your horse is my servant. I knew 
how you rode every day, for I followed you up from 
Durban, and have watched you constantly. I told the 
boy to prepare a special bit for your horse; one that 
would burn his mouth after a while. Oh, that is an 
old trick which I learned in your virtuous England. 
When the little beast began to feel the burning he 
naturally bolted. What else would you expect him 
to do ? I did not anticipate he would throw you, 
though; that was not included in my plans! The rest 
you know.” 

Again she tried to struggle free from his grasp. 
“For God’s sake, let me down!” she cried. She felt 
she would go into hysterics every moment. 

“That is the one thing I will not do. I have you 
at last, and I keep you. You are mine now, husband 
or no husband. Not if I can help it shall you ever see 
him again.” 

She strove to pierce the black darkness that was all 
around. She strained and strained her eyes, but there 


290 


A Traitor in London. 


was nothing. Then she thought she saw a light. 
But she could not be sure. On the vain chance that 
somebody might hear she screamed loudly once, and 
then again and again. 

“Be quiet, I say,” roared Van Zwieten, savagely. 
“ Understand that 1 won’t lose you — that I shoot you 
first, and myself too, for that matter.” 

He spurred his horse; they were not yet beyond the 
territory under British patrol. He seemed to know 
perfectly well where he was making for. She began 
to feel sick and faint with the motion and the fierce 
clutch of the man. The horse was galloping hard now 
with his double burden. She felt he could not last 
long at that pace. But Van Zwieten had set his teeth 
hard to it, and urged him on and on, speaking not a 
word. 

“ Oh, God, save me from this man! ” she cried. 

As though in answer to her prayer there was a ter- 
rible clap of thunder. A flare of lightning overspread 
the sky, and by its light she could see his face was 
deadly pale, and oh! so cruel. Before he could swear 
— for his horse shied at the crash — before even she 
could cry out, the rain came down with a hiss and a 
swirl, almost a solid mass of water. Once again her 
thoughts went back to that night long ago when 
Malet had been murdered. Was she about to meet 
death too ? 

Then, with an oath, he drove the spur into the 
animal, and, terrified, it made another bound forward. 
The rain lashed their faces; they were already drenched 
to the skin. Then came another fearful thunderclap. 
She felt as though her head must burst. There was a 


A Dutch Lochinvar. 291 

gleam far away there in the distance — the light from 
some farmhouse, probably. 

“Help, help!” she screamed. “Oh, Harold! — 
Harold!” 

Van Zwieten swore loudly, but his oaths were 
drowned in the thunder overhead. The horse reared, 
snorting with terror. Then she felt the Dutchman’s 
arms lessen their grip, and in a paroxysm of fright 
and despair she flung herself to the ground. She fell 
into a kind of morass, and she could hear Van 
Zwieten’s cry of rage as the animal sprang forward. 
The next moment, half stunned and dazed as she was, 
she was up and running for dear life toward the light 
now not far distant. 

In vain did Van Zwieten struggle with his terrified 
horse. The animal plunged and reared, and every 
peal of thunder increased its state of frenzy. He 
heard the girl shriek, and by a lightning flash he saw 
her tearing across toward the light. In the distance a 
farmhouse showed up black in the glare. Then, as 
once again he dug his spurs and turned his horse’s 
head, he heard a shot. It was followed by another 
and another, and the next flash showed him several 
figures in front of the house. 

Once again Brenda screamed for help. A lusty 
British cheer was her reply. It reached the ears of 
the horseman, and hp knew well what it meant. He 
galloped off through the roar and conflict of the ele- 
ments like a madman. He had lost her! For the sec- 
ond time she had escaped him! 

Her heart bounding, she ran forward with redoubled 
energy, shouting ever her husband’s name. There 


292 


A Traitor in London. 


was another shot and another flash of lightning across 
the sky. It seemed to her that the very heavens were 
open. She threw up her arms and fell against the 
farmhouse fence. Then she heard a voice give out 
some order. 

It was her husband’s voice I 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 

Brenda’s reasoning power was not at fault in that 
moment of excitement. Harold, with his small patrol 
party, had crossed the river. She, too, was across the 
river — Van Zwieten had told her that. It was Harold’s 
voice she had heard; she could not be mistaken. It 
was no matter of the wish being father to the thought. 
It was his voice she had heard — the voice of her own 
husband. He was there in the farmhouse with his 
party. 

“Thank God!” she cried, raising herself with 
difficulty. 

Where Van Zwieten was she did not know. He 
could not harm her now; Harold was there to protect 
her. Clinging to the stones of the fence in the 
drenching rain, she cried his name aloud again. There 
was silence, then the sound of many voices and the 
i;ramp of feet. 

“ Who goes there ?” asked a gruff, military voice. 

“I — an Englishwoman — Mrs. Burton — let me in.” 

The gruff voice uttered an exclamation of astonish- 
ment, and there sounded the dull thud of a rifle being 
grounded. Immediately afterward she heard a light 
footstep on the veranda of the house, and her hus- 
band’s voice, surprised and incredulous. 

“ Brenda!” 


293 


294 


A Traitor in London. 


“Oh, Harold, Harold, it is I! Let me in— let me 
in! ” 

The gate in the wall was pushed open and several 
privates emerged;/ {y§pri;^e|"j-(^}] 3 arrying a lantern 
swung it so that the light fell on her pale and haggard 
face. Then, with; adiovw'Jciiy oif'astomshment, her hus- 
band picked her up in his arms and carried her into 
."Hw itiv/oq gninoHco'i ^'Aan3a8 

BPWlW hSP^ i.i.rf ,y)-|i;ri 

iHd' HkPd 
Miipa' fWiw-Bf 

'n^fkiWg — (tBdid'kniy'PBjoIBi frP Kai)- 

mgmufi(f mm 3'iuilt HJ>w 'di .hned^.nd 

, Oh, Harold, Harold! Thank God, 1 have be^ViTeld 
io^you!^^'^‘‘ .h'Jio 3(L ' ! hoi ) >lnnd 1 “ 



thing ‘cooKe . 

fey trying^io e^tllaiS? ^co'bi 


^ \ ke ha3‘‘tHoughr6f‘teV w JfWiV— ^af^^'^ah 

Ln. faint 


- . ),} i < 

opearman s 

nohon that Van Zwieten had.,somethin^g‘^^o^^4^''‘v\yith 
thts^,*^iiioVgli' few* ^ cdafd’ ii'a*Ve maW^*^6d^iTliy t'^uldn’t 
for iH^iiB^f ^ ‘ " 

•fik,'”-'*'"- ' II. 


^ *";§He imileH* livifely , aV ‘‘hfe, ' ^iut)n*i*itted‘^'^3 be 

wfeefed ’ in fee 'cKiiPm' th'd nr^.' ' ' ' HeP haliitfe^s^iMk- 

-><1 pm ^!: u‘m.Lj>us.^u< i.l’ 


-IV- 


siaekePiBa''tdbli'ft‘er’h'^n.a; "" 

The room br‘’a6"'gi'yyt kize'. i wdi' 'TuPrli^Wb*d 
quite roughly with a few chairs and a' ’ydPa.'^lnd a 


An 2 ^ 5 - 

fMrtr^jA,?|(j W^atjS^rHgg&yl^kiflg ^y.^p,- 
ni 9 ?^ia;im)-Xf' 9 Ff 2 ¥?Mr! 9 Wj^hf .tnpnteljjjyc^^ 

rebels. Outside, the rain still cai^]^,j::^^^p^ny^qrjt:^j^jj. 

and 'H?.,?, fpf?1T?j.fip?fii!?^r2&'3Pifflitj4l'e?f2i'??orP%Wep- 

ing up their spirits and doipg^^jfjqy-^ybgg^^ pj, 9513(^6, 
all . «ajf,, wjf^iin,,,^ h95„tjtice ,|9ffmh-eJi^§ft'ng 

habi^>l %r feps)y 3 p(| 'tvr^BRe(J,jj^r|!i,n jiis,/iyiliji,^3y j|p3icH 

a fit state of mind to answer them. Slii§J;)^gapjq0^qj 

d]n^l)fln -yB>P|^,'(3^prf)§tJyip^^^ef/j,.dfar, 

all the miracles you •b^y^j^g.^^eK. iTig, Jpr I,5:3p;^ 
cfliliei ho^uW'iii'WJffa'^rSiftf tR!igflfljeixc?g|'^y. a 
ynoq \ni briK /)bii n ‘lol qmiio aril 

..Itiei? ,a >>5afp3PjTKwJ?i9 y|^^ftr„|^li,eff, 4 J)^,trjflit^ 9 Pli.^ 3 ; 

Bpep fiem^lp l3?ftut^,|3^ tp,i^^ff;9ee^jng,,le3nyiMf^34,. 

Qft,s; 9 Wt-pqter 9 (},.>|ie,rrp 9 p) ,>y,iffj, p^Jrayg^^fijSnj^jpg, 
‘feliWft; ef^l^‘„iW?s ,a,^Kfp(^!jj ^e3fgrt^„,ap4i,.3giil,9f|,. 
plp3S3pfly,„S|ipispi9!{9,flo^l5jpg.,)3H^ j^.g^l 

an^y'pr^^ttqe^llfi P?tW 9 feitfflt;r!filh#fiPP-orlJ<'b^!l?/ 
'^WrRtzhfSrt li ■'flbel^^.sfco^j^fyPpVoSMiftf 

outwardly. She bustled Brend^j^i,pt0j^^^t^|jr^|:^oj];\,|^ 
and,^l^pc?:.jspfpli,e(}„}}fr,yyitt3 .ggyp^pl^, <; 9 r^?'Ply> 
but.of,,^t\9,t9f^t,.)y9Pf);erfHh^i?siga|anf||9o;^^ 

'nsTinW “ 

Bppr W9033g’s^/.^^!ffid3y3'fijpery— 93p;>e,^ck^.f;9.| 
pittingrf9ippi,f[,Py9p,5Ufilij,g3rp^Pit?, gopj^l pot 
away from her beautyf,.^tvi>pgh.,Jp3y .^f^^tpfllly.iggnr,! 


296 A Traitor in London. 

cealed every line of her figure. She sat down to the 
table and ate. Harold had gone to see his men. 
Then she sipped a little of the brandy and sat herself 
down by the fire. She felt as though she would never 
be warm. But after all she had undergone, this peace 
and rest was heavenly. 

“Well, dearest," said her husband, entering quickly, 
“how do you feel now ? " 

“Better — much better. Come and sit by me, 
Harold, and 1 will tell you how I come to be here. 
You are just dying to know, and trying not to show 
it for my sake! " 

He unbuckled his sword and drew a chair beside 
his wife. “I am very much astonished," he said, 
taking her hand in his, “ but 1 have an idea before you 
say a word. Is it Van Zwieten ? " 

“Yes! 1 thought you might guess as much. 1 left 
the camp for a ride, and my pony bolted. Mr. van 
Zwieten, it appears, through the agency of a Kaffir, 
arranged it all by tampering with the bit. 1 was 
thrown; there 1 lay alone on the veldt. He came up 
and carried me off on his horse. When the storm 
burst 1 managed to wrench myself free and ran to- 
ward the lights in the house. But 1 never, never ex- 
pected to find you here, dearest! It is God’s mercy 
that has led me to you." 

“ 1 have only been here a I’ew hours," he explained. 
“Warren’s division had started, and we are to remain 
until it comes up. How strange that we should meet 
here. So Van Zwieten is at his tricks again! The 
brute! How 1 wish 1 could get a shot at him. Did 
he .come near the house with you ? " 


An Unexpected Meeting. 297 

“No. When he heard the shots he rode away; at 
least, I think so. But I am safe with you, Harold! ” 

“For the time being, Brenda. But it is just as 
likely as not Van Zwieten, knowing where you are, 
will return with a Boer force and try to take the 
house. This is the enemy’s country, and they have 
not yet retired before the advance. 1 expect the 
division about dawn; but there will be time for Van 
Zwieten to attack before then.” 

“ Harold! promise to shoot me before 1 fall into his 
hands.” 

The perspiration broke out on the young man’s 
forehead. “If the worst comes, Brenda, 1 will,” he 
said solemnly, “ but 1 hope to shoot him. Of course, 
he may not bring any Boers up after all. They must 
know of Warren’s advance, and 1 dare say they’ll be 
afraid to linger outside their entrenchments. How did 
Van Zwieten find you on the veldt 

“He watched the camp and followed me. Oh ■ 
Harold, the whole thing was a scheme of his own to 
get possession of me. When 1 escaped he was taking 
me to the Boer camp; and he intended to send me to 
Pretoria.” 

“To marry you, 1 suppose, after 1 was shot! How 
did he treat you, Brenda 

Mrs. Burton met her husband’s gaze fearlessly. 
“With all courtesy,” she said. “If 1 had been his 
sister he could not have treated me better. And 1 had 
my revolver, you know, until he took it from me.” 

“The scoundrel! 1 am glad you were well treated. 

1 have to thank him for so much consideration. But if 
he had not ” Harold clenched his fist. 


.1: A ’ ' TtaJitbr- ] m( {Lomdom/ : 

ci 1 


^8 

ji. I'.wQuld (havie killed ; in yself 31 ’’ said MsAvifej^with 
eqMlilficjrfcfeaess; tlilVYou can triisti me, Htaroidi JYoiii 
don’t Suppose 'anythirigmahythingl even torturey tould 
change 'fne;B/fv/ .y; / - nj:V ion xj. vI-j:' - 

‘yr!f‘ Nt),Jdear; li'kiiQW you are the bravest IMeiwoten 
in the ji'^roMd. ,b;have the utmost faith 5 ih youv * I 
should >1)6 a dur if .bhad notri Tell m elm ore labout this 
bruteiSiplottingf’lli ;/ . .;i] tud iv-U, noiri 

This she did, omitting no detail ff am the time ^vheh 
Mdm-jZiwfiiefiert had .qiieked .hdr oip .onithe vbldt: t6 *the 
time of her meeting with him, her husband. He grhund 
his tee^Has7he!rlistenecii;oyetihe} was: relieved to ^fihd 
things; webe^ ho v44orsei(:^^ k !spite of the Dufchrrian’s 
villainy, ffee was'i inclined rrto ;thii1knbetter{bf i him. than 
he - had hithertbi done: q Dishohbrable. as: hfe was,^ he had 
at{ leastsidtieated a defenceless woman with f^pect. ' At 
the cortdlusion vof ! the story he todsed her again f6r her 
bravery. ' 'I thiov • rl) n() noy bnil n3l‘;r"X !i:: 

riCy Deai^eslyoyoiillhav6;!beenfispJendfd h am a' liiiCky 
fellow I -to have-' so ^ ft)ludcyK. a/ littlel J sokf ' f or^ iny! wifi.’ 
§ufSe.tthe/.mah!l3fj!rlon^ fft]xil\tfie raorrient'when f ^hall 
faceljlio^face fwith .him.^i HeideservesmoJthirig better 
than a bullet; and he’ll get it if I can shoot stfaight.*5V ' 
wblhlo,' dohT^.shol)t'him,^j’ sai4i Bifenda/, behiaVed 
well to me. He is a spy and a; scoundrel, -but hfe isJ hot 
a ybruiUei fdAndjt^Hafolddd i ffeally! believer’ hie ; Idves; 'me 
tfUlyrS’/od bnd I IP' .biiT* » lb .di: •/ ' 

bftdWhoAwoiiild nfotfiloVeijyoii, my lowhlt^y .> said her’ 
husb’andv tenderly] (>f d‘'yiek,dl; can see he loves you. ’/It 
isbthesibeiSt '/feeling in/hik bJackLheaiitLj ilAlbthe sariie, I 
Wii?h<he w?auldi transfer this schivailrOus aiffection tO sombi 
other quarter faild ilbalvelyoul alblne;’!! " ton bnr! ‘jrl 


An< )Uneicpect©di i Mfe’etliig. ^ 2^ 

I 

. f f I . krta: > afraid' ; he' wilt -nev^r leave: imp iaii)nei UntiP he 
die$!’M;vy II jJoiwX iir.V W .‘ibi.'Jiio xl) inoYt noilfi-iJJu 
“ Then, t he mliii) ; Kilre^! Ih Icfied hdr' hasjband; f fiercely. 
'■'L shall prbtfect you fr(>rhi’.these{Yrisul^ anyiedst. 
CUrsd, him) InWishf I. Mdi^shdtiihim jiitf. Chippinghblt 
when. he adcUsedirhe dfl m;urdenn{glMalet.JfnBut WPWill 
talk ofilthis anothef fimie, iBrenda/lbiY-ouflardi^iMorniwt. 
lie down^on the $pfad dear) (and ftcyitbhlfeippdlLet^nife 
put/ my>icloak bwer yoiif/i ird ton i?i9W udw .yrnana 
ii;iiV)!But you, /Harold!? jioi jd op.uorirmKl odt eiuJqiiD 
i “ill must /keep myjdyeswiiboiit me. liilihavpianddea 
that i 1 Van 1 1 iZwi'eten 71^111' 'ibrihg'/ <hiis ^ ^Eoerd/fupy before 
dawni’b'iirmt bnr. jnd ,i<oye lod eaolD ton blnoo 

aarf^ your! Hhinki l?pi'/^ouMi it ncrtnbei fo^ttdritourdtfeA 
toward the advancing column Hdlfljiiuodnu i/onils ^kw 
LI< jY!Nto.n >lthhve my!4rderk/4d^stay here^i'thidughl of 
course/" no<) attack iv was- anticipated! nHere<’ Tlhlstay, 
Brenda, arldidolmy diltyid I hWe/altJd^en menyiandin 
this house I dare say we can hold out until oitf^a'd- 
vance guard. arriViesY - T am noil af mid fforfiniyselfllbut 
far youl’b. il noliuH nii:]qiO .^nidDtnv/ rii larlto flDr.‘> 
-iljitiDearcst) dd not; bp/asfiraiidi ffot^ niP. t»;ii would* i-a^ther 
be.herel thin ini theixamixf^iil^'wenaifentaodtej wb :die 
together JjVin 'dli i dd bi;fl ffDfIt lo fiyxob k orjf.s 
, jd‘tl wonT' die ;/ nfeither ihailb you. ^'bWedl'''‘ba<ifte! Van 
Zwieteln .yeti' ) ijcv ffarV^ifortune)ihasj<beiri' •dn»<ofUrljiide>. 
NoiWigo.itoisJeep.' III. must attend tomiy dutyT’d^H; no 
; Brenda I obeyed., i .‘iShe- wasi /worn :>oiut' with: lemMitkfM 
and fati^e.) )Sxz) rtiuch.sdlthat she ktould riot'$leepi‘:vShtp 
lay flat on /her /back) i on ithe^hardi iofap s'tiring alfftb^ 
Whitewashedf ceiling,. 6rt. which' the .flicker of! the dying 
liamp] inodei thfeUhadow.s. danceU iHifoldiihadutaikert 


A Traitor in London. 


300 

away the lamp in case the steady light should attract 
attention from the outside. If Van Zwieten was about 
it was not improbable that he would fire where he saw 
a light. Brenda hoped with all her soul that he would 
not return. She could not bear to think that she had 
been the means of bringing Harold and his men into 
peril. But she sadly feared that, knowing where she 
was, the Dutchman would bring up some of the 
enemy, who were not far away, and would try to 
capture the farmhouse before the advance column 
came up. Full of the thought of it, worn out by 
anxiety and excited by the novelty of the situation, she 
could not close her eyes, but tossed and turned on her 
hard couch, longing for the daylight. The suspense 
was almost unbearable. 

The hours passed slowly. Now and then Harold 
would come in to give her a word of comfort; and 
she always replied with a bright smile and a cheerful 
word. 

The men in the other parts of the house relieved 
each other in watching. Captain Burton had honestly 
told them what they might expect. There was noth- 
ing to be gained in minimizing matters. Each man — 
there were a dozen of them — had his rifle and revolver 
with a few rounds of cartridges. It was obvious they 
could not hold the place against any prolonged attack 
on account of their shortness of ammunition. But if 
the Boers did not commence operations until dawn, as 
it was improbable they would do, they on the other 
hand, would not have much time. Warren’s column 
was on the march, and would be there betimes in the 
morning, and then the enemy would be forced to fall 


An Unexpected Meeting. 301 

back on their entrenchments among the mountains 
unless they chose to run the risk of capture by the 
superior force. On the whole, Harold felt sanguine 
that he and his men would come out of it all right. 
And there was always the chance that Van Zwieten 
might not bring up his force, or that he might mak^ 
over-elaborate preparation, and thus delay the attack ir 
he did. At worst, he could rely upon the arrival of the 
column very shortly. 

He determined that, when all was safe, he would 
send Brenda back to the camp. That done, he could 
march forward to the relief of Ladysmith with a light 
heart. Twice Brenda had escaped this man. She 
should do so a third time. 

Toward dawn the rain ceased and the thunder- 
clouds rolled away, leaving a clear and starry sky. 
There was no moon, but the surrounding objects were 
faintly outlined in a kind of luminous twilight. The 
animals about the house commenced to wake and sniff 
the morning air. Burton went on to the veranda and 
looked out on the wild waste veldt, uncanny in the 
cold light of early dawn. He could discern no sign of 
an approaching enemy. Nevertheless, he felt anything 
but easy in his mind, and determined on a definite 
course of action. If Van Zwieten did come he would 
find the bird he wanted to capture flown beyond his 
reach. Captain Burton returned to the sitting-room 
and woke Brenda from the uneasy slumber into which 
she had fallen. 

“Dearest! ” he said, sitting down and drawing her 
to him, “I have a presentiment that Van Zwieten will 
attack this house, and I want to put you beyond his 


30 g J T>M t6r ‘ li n > - jLiondbnj / 

reachjnoln wili send- yoUnforwardifwith =^6ne’ of my 
mb'n/d Thefe’ is i a horse'^here ; which I jican '^et from 
the' 'Boer tyhrriah.'i 'He you to the advaoc- 

ing ; oolbrrtn tand^you" will ' fee ^sent i feaolc ^afely lo ith'e 
camp;’'’X niiV Ji.fll ‘y,iujh ■)(]) ;-i // m-!;: IjrA 

But she'flatl5i refUsed to dosthisi fwori’tileavte^you 
here tfe fee'^h'otl'd)! krife# y-oui'canH corne yoursdlf, land 
I won’t>*gu : without ' jyod. ' ' fisupposeiwe xould iiot all 
leave the place?” .v(}i< li/ -m'; / fiinjih; . 

hIi‘?oNo.‘»dI/Have''rny id>rders* to .ferhainjihere uhtillthe 
bfelumnd I'icauH* idisofeeyy Brbndad iYou 

friu^t jgdj’iV/ fliini;<vbcJ- 'to ! oj jji}. ,7 I'd 
3d^No;ino, ddrt’dsend melawaylii l!Will^+^” 

There was a shout outside. and! Handed sprahglfofeis 
fgrell}.nud‘Tl h!d)pd to>Gbd?t>is nottooilatet/f helcTiedr'and 
hufriednoUt. brifi inal;) c ;;niv -d ,/( //i. ^.-dloi A 
oi But^it w^as^Jfiofeflate.!!' Actors dhe- veldt a large body 
oil TBoetd;:^erfe ^ridingud Thel ea^t' was! saffron color, 
ind Everything' Tdr> a' considerafekrldidtance Icohld be 
^eniiblearly.'jflThe 'serttry/whOnh^d shouted 'pointed 
oiit the <advancinglxioluntn!to Hife captkini.;* And Has^old 
iv^ent ifoundi thebHdiiise> ahld gave ferders to bolt lalnd 
fear ( dll ' :thie '>k^iridowisifl riTheff he/ returned to his' wif e 
add dirisisted' that' she-' !shohld lEave? with one of the 
hieny/ -d 7fnoD bib fidoiwX rn. / W ';7 
ddlnmust sendia mes^ngCr back to telllthem welare 
being attabkedjJand hwrrylthemdujiJ nYdu must) go; 
Brendao’hd lodmuh rm rli nirni iJ.i;',:'; 

“No, no! A thousand times no!” .r; Ur/s 1 ud oih 
God' hElpfc'Us theTi',b’ heigroahed, ahd 'went Off to 
despatch! hik mefesen^erj jfrThe enemy wks riding at 
ai^l:dmer{'.fd:ross!; thejgrasSuxi vHE took .oneioif hrki lancers 


AisoUnexpected Meetfng. gQ3 

round: hy back where; fthe!lhors6s v\»'ebe' > pickieted, 
and t<bld';him to,iridb with' ail . speed it o theihdvartcing 
column, and report the danger. " Stin.’ . 

The man took his./hbhsei: and) fsftole iqiiietLy/away, 
-taking: a- wide ! detour^ to i avoid tha.dyhixi:eyes‘<df‘'the 
Boers. So he was away and out of sight beforeitkey 
.readhed'lthe ; farmhouse) byrthe; itont; ^ Brehda‘>i(i:6uld 
see lthemi domin^,^ could seedM^n ZWieteni leading-^ 
ishe knew hiWby bis '.golden: bearduvighfe: ran Uochdnge 
her things, and by the time the Beets bald: dismouhtrbd 
near the fence running round the 'hdukey she ^a^vb*ack 
liri herlridingihabit. .SheKgot\&'rev4)l5v;€r)frbtii! heil Hus- 
‘biatid,.and by his>drdersilremkined(in (thle bitdng-iJOorh 
as the safest place. Then he kissed!, her :^fondiy and 
IlvVer^tl Out. . Hi§ rrten, ported jaf doors' lahid iwihdows, 
were all On the* alert^coolly Icourageous; ad )the 'BHti>sh 
isoWieh -alwkys is Yn time of peril.* For the^rbst 1?hby 
wereiinfIGod’s handSi.>v worl'* .iioriua 

I / The : yellowi in .the /feast i changed tb d fiefpy- redv anjd 
ail ^ )the eartlh i^vasbbathed ^ in e^rodeatej huelsi* - < FroOi * the 
Ver^ndd GaiptaimiBiartan couId seetthb Nviide' veldt roll- 
ing in /giassy waives ltd 1 the foot blf thb distant moun- 
tains, ^and^ a gleam of tHfe wihding/river, brlihnson in the 
glare. The enemy were grouped some distance away 
i frond thbife neb, andihd wbntoWt witibtwof men to ask 
'their-' intentions. XDf coiinse he krieW) too'iwell! what 
they'jwerej'.'biiti f even! M iwari there is a) certain etic^ubttte 
to be observed. After a while Van Zwieteri, 'With>'<a 
-\Vhite/!handkerchief ::at /thfeMfend' of >aiStick,'carhfe 'for- 
ward also with two men, and stoppedf’atnthe >fencb, 
AVhdnce hercbulditaik to the English ofificehno i iu^ “ 

“ Well, you scoundrel I !•) ICaptain BurtOHisaid fieiidely, 


A Traitor in London. 


304 

for his soul loathed this man who was trying so hard 
to take his wife away from him, “ what do you 
want? " 

“ 1 want Mrs. Burton, and 1 want you! ” 

“ You shall have neither — or, at best, our dead 
bodies.” 

The other man changed color. “Don’t be a fool. 
Burton,” he said. “1 have a number of men here, 
and you must give in. Surrender, and I promise you 
that you shall go free.” 

“ And my wife ?” 

“ 1 can't let her go,” Van Zwieten said sullenly. “ I 
have risked too much for her sake to do that. She 
must come with me!” 

Captain Burton stepped forward a pace, but he still 
kept on the veranda. His orderlies stepped forward, 
also stolid and courageous. “You villains,” said 
Burton, savagely, “how dare you make such a pro- 
posal to me ? If it were not for the flag you carry I 
would shoot you where you stand. If 1 were only 
one of your lot 1 should do so in spite of it! 1 hope to 
God that 1 shall kill you! And 1 will some day. You 
have insulted my wife for the last time, you scoun- 
drel!” 

“ 1 never insulted Mrs. Burton, as she will tell you 
herself,” the Dutchman said coolly. “ And she will 
not be your wife long. I shall claim her as mine over 
your corpse.” 

“ Do so if you can! But 1 want no more talk. Re- 
tire your men.” 

“Surrender to the President of the Transvaal Re- 
public!” was the counter demand. 


An Unexpected Meeting. 305 

“I hold this house for Her Majesty the Queen. I 
refuse to surrender.” 

“Your blood be on your own head, then!” Van 
Zwieten turned as though to retire. Suddenly he 
sprang aside and flung up his hand. The Boers with 
him instantly had their rifles to their shoulders, and 
two shots rang out. Harold had just time to throw 
himself down, but one of his men was shot. The 
poor fellow flung up his arms with a cry. It had not 
died away before a volley came from the British sol- 
diers within the farm; but by this time Van Zwieten 
and his companions had decamped and, expecting the 
return fire, had thrown themselves down. The larger 
body of Boers fired; and under cover of this the three 
scoundrels rolled, and afterward ran into safety. 
Harold sprang back through the door, whither the 
other soldier had preceded him. He picked up the 
dead man in his arms, and, with bullets pattering 
about him like rain, carried the body indoors. Then 
the door was closed and the siege began. As the first 
shots came ping, ping against the red stone walls, the 
sun uprose in a blaze of glory and all the veldt was 
flooded with golden splendor. 


I .flOSIJp Ofil I'jH ‘lo'l ^^fl^ biofi r‘ 

iifiV ‘Mnarlr .biiori nwo iuo\{ no ad boold luoY " 
ari yIrl^bbIJ^ nal^iwX 

flliv/ ?;iao8 adT .fr.u.fr Hirn^/ §Mr bnu abiai; X|nr/iq 2 
bnii , 2 iabiuofi 2 liarll yDrmJ^ni rnid 

woifil o1 arnll ? 2 U( btjfi blo-iuH Juo ^nin yJofU. ow) 
3f]THE.tf^ei.fr<^i?<4!tlie;[hoii8e oitad.eioMtone, laild 
tbiis c^piVien whilst siotof 
behind jt^eiitrunks, pfi the/ced ;gUnai$> 
ib?si#gp4- ( h^tddtben^idivanltagied ifor 
‘Mr«nnrjQtpi:|e4,fbyhtjaj?riWPJi^lM^ the^itofrrhQ^isel fend 
f ‘^hpot . '.4'Xppsmg * Ihenisdkeis, -y i nr©! i Vjaa 

J:hPr d^appQjn!tjT)pntf)(M. n0t,having^$uDC 
it^j.^bpotingi Hftrplim/tfe^iifii'atnda^t^jldly aUtaiCtkiiwas 
Yi^fyigrB^iiv/ Mllled/iheiimiagindd 

^h^tq^h^);^!diet^fvopldrlhHv6o§nr.t}ertdereddi<^uiterfiPrn 
)ilt(jwadj?wt c^MQm M Ei5glishm^nytt> 
tq;..^ny^hing3(bPlfl4efeth^^B'Np^^^i^^ bdWev^eJt, rthefe 
thing. feti'Jd bi^ti^t(%(tefe^ithP)pl4ce^befQre)beHdf 
bdK^WQifdj thait.-Bcenda 
ihPPVfjfe^ hi^ Ib; bnu yiolg lo axi;ld n ni a^o iqij nn-^ 
Mrs. Burton herself rep^pin^^ ii^*ilibe.silttinghr^ 0 fTt; 
revolver in hand. Far from being afraid, the girl, 
much to her own surprise, was filled with the terrible 
joy of battle; indeed, she was in the highest spirits. 
The Boers fired at the windows and wherever they 
saw a puff of smoke. As the bullets sang, and the 
smell of powder became stronger, Brenda could hardly 
contain her excitement. The Boer woman was on her 
knees in a back room praying with all her might that 
the accursed rooineks would be taken and killed. Her 


.flohfH 3 e^kg^d.!i;rr a goy 

: W^^l&-with the, armies lof /the iReputM 
Ijp, ^p<f^.h,er whole heart was with her counitjjyrnefi outH 
si4?;M!|HQ^M gla41y, Jhad she dared, would she; have 
opeipe4 lth,e. door to them! ,= <: di i)jni 

; Harojd prdered his men to reserve their Jjre; His 
aim \yas nptso much to score a victory . as, itjOi hold the 
house until help arrived. On their sideiithe .enemy 
were , -equally . carefuh - and : i the, i fight . iprogreSsedi; but 
slpwly* [There. (Were thirty! }B.o,ers,,! morel or; . les$>i laud 
qfljthp^ei, three were .already 4 pad,j; w.hfie,i two * were 
^,quiiii 4 fid. .. Qff. those Jn, theiihousie-onlyiithe manishat 
i^,n4,er, lithe white, flag ,wasi dead^. vVani ^wietenp loolfr. 
hjig; , ai}xlpusliyi Averj -the > plam^) Teawgi -every , monnenft to 
aee;i,shit*?e sign, of, the Briitish adManc^fr.oursedithe sJowh 
neiss. pfii the jat^air.-, ..AtiJast .hei piicKedl Some, men land 
sent -them , round Ito try and get at theihloin&esIlo^dheibeH 
S{iegied;i: i buti Harold- jhadligPtvthemi; under .shdter: fim- a 
shed, with five men in front to guMduth^rojoJlThO 
Baersnoreepingisnoundithe c0irner!Wfereimetiby/.afvdfey 
whichihilled fo<Ur aitdi wounded itwov I iThey fled swlem 
ing>iaadiiGaptain Burton irejoiiced.iKwl -jr!) nldiiv/ 

!,V. Reserve i your . fine,-, ifienJ - .shall rhold out lafter. 
allii’d^iinidi .>loi<l j.hnKvr? ■)<U {]>■ /rniq xi I /-ihi.i 
f.'By Heaven iwe IwilV s<in! • ’ one of theimbriiiarlswer-edl. 
“-iWe’lHfightj.rtolIhe, list' .rather thaimi-in (English- lady 
should fall into -tho/handiSiofidhese dirty raslcalsiU.iHo'l. 
Give iem.beansuyoilibeggarsi! 11)71 il, 7!hjjl,).i.) 

Arid .this tthe! beggars- ilu questioni pnO(peeded to douiL 
"lliheni Maai-Zwieterrlsent, forward a doizen, mfen-lon'to 
the veranda with a rush. Their advance was covered 
hy ,.lafateadyvfire!ufrfc)m it)>e -reah,! though noltj ojmeilof 4 he 
be5iegfirsd<shoWedifJhinlsel/iJ cSiraultaUeduslyi anbtheri 


308 A Traitor in London. 

body attacked the back shed wherein the horses were 
housed, and in spite of the British fire succeed in ef- 
fecting their entrance to the yard. Then they rushed 
into the shed, which was an open one. Two English- 
men fell, and there was no one to fill their places, for 
their comrades were fighting desperately on the 
veranda in front. 

Van Zwieten, seeing his advantage, led the re- 
mainder of his force to the other side of the house, 
where there was a wide window. It opened into the 
room where the Boer woman was kneeling. She flung 
open the shutters. Van Zwieten jumped in, followed 
by half-a-dozen of his men, and the first those within 
knew of it was when they found themselves attacked 
in the rear. They right about faced, put their backs 
to the wall, and fought like men. Then, as a reward 
for her treachery, a stray bullet pierced the brain of 
the Boer woman. 

Meanwhile, the men who forced entrance into the 
yard were steadily gaining ground. But hearing the 
firing within the house they turned back by the front 
again, in order to come to the rescue of their com- 
rades. The party on the veranda broke through the 
door and hurled themselves forward. Boer after Boer 
fell before the British fire, for Harold had now con- 
centrated his men — what there were left of them. 
Gradually he was driven back to the sitting-room. A 
shout of triumph from outside announced that those 
who had remained had succeeded in capturing the 
horses. 

Within, the whole place was dense with smoke. 
Brenda, in obedience to her husband’s orders, was 


309 


Besieged. 

lying flat on the floor beside the sofa. She gave up 
all for lost, but determined she would not be taken 
alive. She was only waiting until her husband fell. 
In the midst of it all she could discern Van Zwieten. 
Rifles were useless now. It was hand to hand work. 
The end was near. 

There, in the little room, Harold stood with three 
of his men beside him. The others were either dead 
or dying. But the Boers had got off by no means 
cheaply. At least twenty of them had been done for. 
The four Englishmen, with their backs to the wall, 
fought on, using revolver, muzzle and butt-end, until 
at last their cartridges gave out, and they threw down 
their weapons with a curse and surrendered. There 
was nothing for it. Van Zwieten gave vent to a yell 
of triumph. His men threw themselves on Burton. 
But the Englishman was too quick for them. He 
stepped back quickly and levelled his revolver. He 
had one chamber loaded. 

“I have just one left,” he said hoarsely; “stand up 
to it, Van Zwieten, for I am keeping it for you! ” 

“ Finish him, men! ” roared the Dutchman. 

“No, no,” cried Brenda, and before a man could 
move she had flung her arms around her husband and 
stood between him and them. “ The last shot, dear, 
is for me! ” she said. 

There was a pause. They held back. Harold never 
flinched. His wife clung to him desperately. His 
face was streaming with blood from the graze of a 
bullet. But he was determined to make good use of 
that last shot. 

Beside Van Zwieten stood a huge man with a white, 


jic) A TraitOrr^n^ tOndon. 

ftfiwiagubjegrd. .f.At tbie. l^utjctoanifnij^^ d^sbl 
fpMard' jai)4n atllemp/te4l;tof ftalifi (Briead^i ^forrvjberi, hu^h. 
b4i]q4’&!ftrit><id it>fl iiinij yfiiiiuv/ vino ?,hw orl?, ,‘jvilj> 
jiSiYiw.^re.tTiTOrV.'h^ cried inftdliyu ‘/iminQ’-bYiQu.^.ljialli 
n§jtj{4iel)fij;rl ol bfiJid /i;v/ j! .V70n ij‘it)W y.-A\iH 

“ Coward! hissed Burton, “ takejjour like th^ 
dAgfiyQUi^eiHM.iHe.'ifiredi ,f(BwtisbfejstFuggling'jtjQ(free 

her^felfi irpijnothwQiji-tatoa#^^^ gra$pi fieilhejavilyf^gwinat) 
tety}gh1i)^n;*(iand>spppe|df;bi^,aimi ‘jiTtheibplletWiliWed. 
QYerhpftd^ n-Hei teWl4Cl^Mn bi5rWeppPBia/7d pWj^r^d) 
f(pir.tfhe',wpnst. ?/!Wpip«b(ber(ibebind‘to^^ sh^ 

fifihpniher hnefe$,r4od>)c^g6p^4iher()aFrns^^ir0jMnd.hi^degs.i 
lyerfirawolveriiihat.^be^-iMight^ b0)i9u?'e joif 
death! hnu tjr'iii) K fitiw Kiiofjf/> // 1 , >(!i 

li'jY®rei!]nWgv)C>utiilrom\Van’Z^ 4fiSpaj?e the; 

WPigiaJHI, iMl/tM w‘jHll fDif! ^ilt .dfjiiujin b> 
dlTwaiiBHPiera/tleyelii^d.oo] B^WhfiKQld, ipaPl wMb the; 
^bite /bwd^yiLi5iiiedtdflrj\5^^.^r4,fandi$itrMq^ >!therni ^a^ifle. 
They fell wide. ‘‘ Hold! ’’ .|^Qhe;np4*.d(i‘iteiti )n,p<maP! 
“ ;vloj^u;od IdbP*. od ",fh>I ono l^ii\ ^jvkiI 1“ 

“ Danniia vypu, iPl^iBjOikd what doi yiCHii rneanf?/ ’/asked? 
Van Zwietppuflaviageiyi.] {ymuYi ‘ IfDrn .iriid d^jiifl •; 
blLVAh lnRieti;BQikbVdcified Hanold,! sieelng a, , change of 
lifei;andi>0!t'.(saving !bis/(Wife<flU arm ypunippsoner again.? 

byM4,tPf(y.oii4,:f od r “ .rrr)iH hni. luid i-.-. > /I'mI hno? 

“Fire, men!” shouted Van Zwjeiten;;rb“ FirSi Jntell 
MO0'!n hlHe.{Was>pMhingl with! ragetat fbe fear leSfli his 
pipy w^,jgpjf]g,[to fpsflape h]md > Then tmrning.tp;the, 
Q|d|<i?iaPj.h,^ said,(n‘ffietji^ki! fthis- isjinriyi, business) 
i(/‘jhi.i4?<kbe Jmiswqs? iPfutheiRepublW/'^iretoJited, tRietd 
coolly, and at the same moment he str^ick/.d^iWn !$; 
B5>firiwisqiW'asrghpu^t5^iflfe3ool^iHkaJig^^^ 


nolxioBesiegediin'r L 

wh(f) disdbiey^ my^6raer$y’ hiei saidL,!)“ Gleatiritha-tdom. 
t<)dH[rndnd herel/’Jiifb bnurnob I*‘ djiv/ 

It was done. Then they set tOfiW)0rk‘jtd;dtflIgrO;Ujti(thje 
toadies dTthe dead; amdlt^Mitfife wounded; >lod 
Soon Harold and his wife, Piet " ‘^kujaiii^ 
IZwieten, ^wereifleftvvaleinie. tfifHor.bthertJl^irdrljtinld ‘the 
TJutchml^nl hadi been] baffled. eiWhdihianeiwhpiiriiiiQf ail 
othi^fsihe n^omldihava hidijdeadratiUjIti/edKrn hidt 

Harold, knowing well that Piet Bok would standlhis 
friend, said notlUn^ ftMJdhelir^offlentV 
‘arrrts '-toiirid BrendfeDfund tfacedfjthefitWaisn’etiv)kf The 
is&ues^()filiffe and^ deaffliweiidlirvdhMr'v'hamls.^iodJid ynrr 
^idM:WiUi:yoili sit doivn^lfBhglishiaiiaA Bmsaid -PtetiBok. 

^ef^]y^a;arelWou^dedd’b^^^9^^o3 ad 'lajoirinrlo outt 
2 yi><^/A. hiefeiisdratdhl^ft ^leplied/Harold ; 1 “ butiBnyi wiife 
■will! sit ‘With! yddr pethiissSonS ’^rn ?a ^iiiT .rnid bjifid 
1 I Wifb! bi echoed i the BoeiiTeader,ri’WhQi^pQke 

English well enough. You never 'tdld'i^e Hb^IWas 
Ithe rooiniKi ivife lfltheiadded^Tuifhing’'tteydn Z>W^.eten. 

“I did not think it was necessatyvfugPoWl^d ithe 
‘Otlier; ‘‘ b!esidefe,,lit}huDldgihft;fflktKvQ)Ulld-b^ ced^ed to 
be by now!” ''‘idoH laiT ,mid avaibd j'/Kib 

^ r: f;u iY e^;l I H:hn 1 well believe! tbatiii’jdrie'd^^BrdndaW with 
iuddenodhejlgyii il ‘t Mynheer! Bdk, odoihdt beliey^jWh^t 
;thi$- rnan? skys/ uWe rtried tO 'GaM:yv me'^bffufrpoihiimy 
husbadd last /nightp and whendl escaped tb/thisiplace 
hfe^ brought!^youilarld‘ybuh‘mdn up with the; sole ^objdet 
of having my husband shot. He would ' shobt ^biffl 
^nbW (i!f*h^ daileUibbrriob 1 *' ./ ni.iMd'jJuCl odT 

“That he shall not do whilst I am here!” criedPkt 
Bok. “You are both prisoners of the Republic), and 
as such you shall be treated.” > luiu c “ 


A Traitor in London. 


312 

“Nothing of the sort!” cried Van Zwieten, mad 
with rage. “I demand that the man be shot and the 
woman be given to me ! ” 

Piet Bok signed to Harold to remain silent. “ On 
what grounds ?” 

“On the grounds that this woman was engaged 
to marry me with the consent of her father, and 
that this man has married her against her father’s 
will.” 

“ Is this true ? ” asked the Boer leader. 

“No! ” cried Brenda, “it is not true. At one time 
my father, deceived by this wicked Van Zwieten, did 
wish me to marry him. But when he found out his 
true character he consented to my marriage with Cap- 
tain Burton. I never was engaged to him! I always 
hated him. This is my husband! ” She laid her hand 
on Harold’s shoulder. “Give me to that man and 1 
will kill myself.” 

“She raves!” said Van Zwieten. “He has turned 
her against me.” 

“That is another lie,” said Harold, fiercely. “ You 
don’t believe him, Piet Bok?” 

“No, I don’t believe him,” replied the big man, 
quietly. “1 believe the lady. My friend,” he added, 
turning to Van Zwieten, “can you wish to marry a 
woman who openly declares hatred for you ? Besides, 
she is already the wife of this English soldier, and she 
loves him.” 

The Dutchman winced. “ 1 demand his death! ” he 
cried. 

“ On what grounds ? ” 

“ He is a murderer.” 


Besieged. 313 

“That is untrue,” Brenda said quietly, “and you 
know it, Mr. van Zwieten.” 

“Oh, I wish I could meet you face to face and fight 
it out! ” Harold said, between his teeth. “ Only death 
will stop that cursed tongue of yours.” 

“A murderer!” repeated Piet Bok, looking at Cap- 
tain Burton. “ That is a serious matter. State your 
case. Van Zwieten.” 

Glibly enough he complied. He related the events 
which had taken place at Chippingholt, the death of 
Mr. Malet, the finding of the revolver belonging to 
Harold, and ended by stating his conviction that the 
crime had been committed by Captain Burton. “ And 
he killed Malet because he was on our side, because 
he was supplying information about the accursed Eng- 
lish to me for the use of the Republic. He ” 

“It is wholly untrue, Piet Bok!” cried Harold, 
furious at the man’s audacious mendacity. “ I did not 
kill Malet; 1 did not know at that time that he was 
betraying his own country to Van Zwieten. This 
man’s one idea is to get me put out of the way that 
he may marry my wife, who hates him; and he cares 
not how he achieves his desire so long as he does 
achieve it.” 

“I hate him! — oh, how I hate him! ” cried Brenda. 
“I will kill myself rather than have anything to do 
with him. If my husband dies I will die too. Oh, 
Mynheer Bok, save me; save my husband from that 
man ! ” 

“If you do not shoot the murderer,” Van Zwieten 
said in his turn, “ you are no friend to the Republic, 
Piet Bok! ” 


; 3 ]l 4 AT raitor OLondon. 

The fWg Boer turned round and oursed hirF^ jfdr his 
words. ^ ■ •' ‘ 

; , ! i ff I .am a. ttrile burgher of > thle • Tmhsv^^h sMd Piet 
flBolfc^ Ai^ith'vehdhiehcey ^‘and'ybuiaire-dri'tyUtlknddr'j'ohe 
of those rats who want to creep intO‘6u^<tb‘rti^ricfc aOd 
gr(jWffatJt>iTHe:?i\^hloIie!6if the'W^fds to dOfOg of such 
!as\{y©tLif^ What: do^you'taowiaboyt me iO'^OO^Aedtidn 
with my own country.^ Nothing. ‘ And* what you 
r-Say7a?boiiit ilbe^e! peldplebissltintrue: d The Woman 'hates 
lyoU; You’ wbuld kill jhfe^ husband! to marry her against 
nher fwillnloAs to he ii ndt the kind of nidn 

>tb murder;!! 'With m^ own ^ eyes TsaW him spare ly 
1 boy, HansU i i You shall' harm neither of therh.’d ; h ; ; > 

; What'iwill you' do, then P '^'shoiited Van Zwieteh, 

-fuir?ously;jj0»i od: h- 'c -.i:: / ; .7 , ..'u od 

“ Send thdm to' Pretdi^ia as prisoners: Yesv buf^nk!)t 
.liir^ybiirlcharge,' mdfkfydu.- You would kill them on 
itobrodd: 1 . veorhmand ! here. Van Zwieten. Go'‘Oult, 
•mynhiedn! land iget lyouh men together. The British! We 
.advancing ’ tan d ip have no fancy for being trap^ei. 
)Gb!V’uw ‘jfll lo j'K' V-.q .-n ! rii;ru 

> n;bBut these two id)’nsiiid! the other.f’ ■ > . . . -ui 

^'Job P^iliibe^reslponsible 4oriHesOtWd,->’‘"* thundered Piet 
Bok. “Do you want to be shot yourself ? ^ That you 
yfiddobie, luniass oiii obe^ ihstatlltlyl<^~- rl o 1 1 : ( 1 i 
o b Very f uitwiliinglyii VanP Z wletOn d turnedi • iabd ■ weri t, 
aind they hefcrdhhislvoide Outside ‘khoiitiHg to^'his ‘^eh. 
:Biienda>nshrangi II forward ■ a'rkl“i kiSSed>^fM)k^S^'i‘iaiid. 
“ Thank you, mynheer, for your goodness. God bfe§s 
!you^^//X rir.V "/larjhiufn tjflt jourb Ion oh uoy il “ 
,ji!niPieVIBok), (yobfiareta^brick! nccriedVfatbldd dhtlkiSf- 
astically; “and since it seems my fate to be a ^rlidrlt^. 


.n(>l)fi<Bfesieged]ii:ri A 3)1 ij* 

^lr5lth0^' rbeiDyldtuii. /j^niMneri^^./thaiyjany 
QliSe’iSv)Vlj fti >luH }‘)iH .qooiJ dflj lo biisrl Mflt 

yff/ Yloti $pired/'myfboyf8ijHfei,'>riidn;i; wias tftb ainsw^ji 
1‘;ani((i)l) am impfc :ungratetfLiliiivhknb'\M(V*iri/Ewibien>is' ai 
bad man, but he is powerful with ouriOomiPalil. - He 
will' 1 Make trouME. W'ben KybuK aisrjser^xtt)^ Pr©t)orid.” 
The^old maniibdnt: jfQiJWdrd!<aqdYwhispbiied, ,i‘i‘il,lii!f>£an' 
help :you. toi!esciapeid',.WiUj;u)Mushj!flnoit‘alwQrd^<»m!yl 
childrenil tP.'hatejuYan ZwieterijivHe risVorl© ofiithioSiei 
who! . have i irumedidaur ^ciourttryo iGonl^ nowriwel m«st: 
go.” ti fol yd] o] <^wyiv iiwo 

Ij ;Consld'eraf3ly> cheered- by the firiendfly JspipPdispiay'ed 
by tlT(©/bldinlanji;Prenda an'd/hdi11husb^and^wdrrt/oht:on 
tp:.th!e veraeda.'j ! sHere: ithey found thfc'Boerim-tHeyjlnad 
buried their dead and had secUred -thd others prisoners 
— ready to start. The;.£ngl(^b -dte^di iwjere Heft onbdri’ed, 
much tiO'irlatiold)® w^rathp'a'nid hi^/beggied -Ik)k\to leiUhim 
and his surviving feirbwsf.biiiryfftheha .'befb^rej ileaving. 
Bajtdhe'/permfiBsiniajwhslrbfudeduo’/ S vflW” 

“We must get away; there is not time. Your 
cjf^liKnrfniWill bbfupon'j»s»!mmfcdial:>ely,'iiknb^. M’duilt, 
prtglishmeftli. / iAnd) lyaii^idadyH^seejYwelhavje ■fonitidi a 
saddlbifof yovt; -jAihlllyou .c!ann 0 lt.sayyw 0 ‘bwghefs;ai^ 
notrdvdihzleddJ No!’^■^> hluod^ yyd) Judvy myrU nv/od^: 

There was no help for it. Brenda maurntftdpflandi 
found: thei < Is^ddledc^&knMtibliik^ enbugh . 1 ♦ d\is>f it ^(Mr- 
wardiKt'fantpicejd, ljVan;^>Ewie;teti rhadl brau^htgitnohidl 
spare horsd, sd Isurojhad ihe)beert>'df ;.paptLirang' Brenckih 
How .he'fhad imarlagednto^pfoieure: h/iimfithe-jBoein fen-; 
trenchmentstit was' jmpossjble tO' say] Jbairtitheredtivhas,' 
andi (Bnenda od rittnpfwv jbut/notH-as'tliief Dbtchindn/ had 
noL 'jdQubViTbhdiy vvpictLUTediidQy UaptlveJ i 


316 A Traitor in London. 

With an expression black as thunder he was riding at 
the head of the troop. Piet Bok remained in the rear 
between Brenda and her husband. As they left the 
house, Harold looked in vain for any sign of General 
Warren’s division. 

Prisoners they were, and prisoners they seemed likely 
to remain, with every probability of being sent on to 
Pretoria, where they would be at the mercy of the 
intrigues of Van Zwieten once again. But Piet Bok 
saw the heavy glower of the Dutchman, and had his 
own views as to the reason for it. 

“ You expected your column to come up ?” he said 
in a low tone; “so did we. Our spies have kept us 
correctly informed. But it seems there is some delay 
in crossing the Tugela.” 

“ Are you disputing the passage?” 

“ No, we are not. We intend to offer no resistance 
to your reaching the mountains.” 

“Why? Surely you should dispute the river pas- 
sage.” 

“No! We are about to — never mind. We know 
what we are doing. Your men are very brave — oh, 
yes; but your generals — ah, well! the dear Lord has 
shown them what they should do— for the benefit of 
the burghers.” 

Not another word would Piet Bok say; but Captain 
Burton gathered from his looks and speech that the 
division was being led into a trap. The Boers were 
past masters in the art of ensnaring their enemies; and 
on this occasion they were quite capable of entrapping 
the whole of Buller’s army amongst the mountains. 
If Harold had only been alone he would have made a 


Besieged. 317 

dash for freedom and hastened to warn his command- 
ing officer. But as he was placed that was impos- 
sible. He could not risk his wife’s safety even for 
that of his division. He could only comfort himself 
with the thought that the British generals had been 
rendered more wary by their late reverses, and trust 
that they would succeed in avoiding this especial trap. 

For some hours the little troop trotted over the veldt 
and drew nearer to the mountains in which the Boers 
had their entrenchments. Hitherto Van Zwieten had 
kept away from Brenda, but now he ranged up beside 
her while Harold was in front with Piet Bok. The 
man looked pale, while his eyes burned like fire. 
Brenda shuddered as she glanced at him and turned 
her horse away. 

“You are not safe from me yet,” he said, noting the 
action. “And though you shrink from me now, you 
will come to me later. I have finished with kindly 
methods. Now 1 will be your master. Your husband 
shall die! yes, in spite of that old fool. And when he 
is dead 1 will marry you. Don’t think you have beaten 
me — or ever will ! ” 

“I am not afraid of you, though you threaten me 
ever so often,” she replied calmly, “for 1 see that God 
is thwarting all your wicked schemes. Twice before 
1 escaped you: this is the third time. You are 
strong, Mr. van Zwieten, but you are not so strong as 
God!” 

“ Bah! Why do you preach to me? 1 know what 
1 am doing.” 

“You do not,” she said steadily, “but 1 do. You 
are marching to your death. Yes, it is true. I believe 


3ii8 A Traitor^ in )llondon. 

firmly ^ that ybu i will die in. the Imidst roflyoiir wiokedr 
nes^ifn inrf) >^f;w -jf! rji JuM .'iodiTIo ;j;;i 

lo rfYon talk) i like' di child j” /isaid)<he, i^dneasiliyi, foukhe 
WasH iri dined i to be MsuJjierstitidiiis, and hef/ sold mn tone 
of cbrividtidn;made hinfK niheakyjHfll Jd^uodt sdi dliv/ 
i /fJYoiii: can t langhiidt iimh ifd y^nvplease^i bot-i^am 
cerUih i that > what^HliUayinsiittoej^iYdd' t willvdifen-Hdie 
ih!^w-^Vr '!‘ivo boJioij qooi) 'jhtil orl) p.njorl yrttoa lo l 
i But befdrel vshe -couldi '<fiiinishijher dissmal propHescy 
IVah f i Zwiet'teng i; thocongshiy dismayed i i by f i her j\Uordsi 
hiad ^ put? ^pnrs; to»ihis vhofsel an’diridklenj dway/att fuU 
spded..>loO J'jiM flliw Inoil ni bloiiiH aiirlw isd 
.01(1 D>lil 1)0010(1 ?/jyo PA(\ olldw ,obiq bodool fiKtn 
boniui briB mid Ui booriidg ode 2 k bo^obbud^ libiioiH 

.yiiwu o;<ioii lod 

odJ gniJoii ,bii]2 od om moil Jon on; jjoY “ 
ooY ,won oiTi moil >lrind^ uoy liguodi bn A .nc)il:>u 
ylbiiid fbiw bod/.iftd ovud 1 .lobd om ot omoo iliv/ 
bnr>d;<;ud iiJoY .lol^Biii lUOY od lliw I woM -;d)od)om 
od iiodw biiA .loot bio ludl lo oliq?. ni ,j'.oy !oib lliid^. 
liolBod ovi;d uoy diiid) j'noCl .uoy ih w I bi;ob y.i 

" ! lliw 10V0 lo om 

om nolBO'idj i;oy /Iguodl ,uoy lo binili; Ion rm; T' 
boi) liiill ooa I lol ,Yj‘‘‘di;o boilqo'i od^ '\no)lo oz lov 
oioiod ooiw r ,?.offV)i\yz bodoiw tuoy Hk gnitiBwdi z\ 
on; no/ .omit biidl odt zi z\{{\ :noY boqr/j^o I 
zji gnoit?. oz ion om uoy Ind jioloiwX rmv .*iM ,gnoiJ^ 

I boO 

tiidw world I S om ot dorr/iq ijoy ob YdW !di;d *' 

".griiob im; I 

noY .obi }ud‘* ,Ylibr.ot?. bmx od)i "don ob uoY “ 
ovoiiod I .ouii z\ ii ,«oY -flb;ob -iuoy ot gniiloiKin o'ib 


.nohfioJ fii i()li];rr A 


oi< 


) fjV'jri r:t.f wl j]ij( [ ■;;rr .rn}.)i-.o :^4ni 

ofl Ififl] wufi r>iofn ofiJ Hr. ^ /^jHi Jud ^morit 

-Kfioa b‘3i.)oqx-j yllm ■. lo tuo xxv/ 

;on hud lid .rK liuGHAWER XXVi. - ' ' .olduoil 

.]'■• / (fi'jflJ diiv/ 01 ;! d) 

': Ixh; ,doa )0id 7dI^^ ,q^VlTY,; vHunoirry/ ) 

Ama the' 


Af^ter the excitempfTt of that da^ ^4 .riij^h't cjaijne 
five da^ 6f qui^'t— qll^et at least for ^apiam 
Biaf tqri,- h^etd prisoners '^s* they were in, a feoer ^house on 
this slopo’ of .R rqcky hill 'sparsely jcovered w^^h grass. 
H: w^s the horhestea’d of a.'sh'eep farmland f He' aiiihials 
fed amongst the I;iills. and, Wlajeh'‘^He seasoris's^rve^,^ 
down Oil .the 

Hiiilt; it jWas'pt ,bne ^MoiV, with ,a roof' of’ corrugat^^^^ 
iVon, add ^Y^s CQjfifdr^^^^ Dutch 

fJasmonV that on the husband 

were hot ^ dhpieasandY’ sitljatecJ'. ^I^of eo Yf they were 
aijbwed to be together— a privil^e^ valued, 

Highly^ " Indeed,' it wa&^tHesojc thing w 
this caphvity;tbi^i)abi#;’ 

^^As^'it happened/ Elk' ‘6ok' ‘was’ ,Un Ate fo sen'd them 

ty'fafrls^^ie'kd The 

erid^i^ed wiitf 'feul'leV's^^divisipn, ’ and’ wei4 ^falling Hack' 

to auiOf c^ned 'Spioh ’iffop,’.a h'^me^'Hafcl'l^ ^knbwjl at 

that time, Hut f^ted in fwo or three 4ays td,He^sp9ken 

of ali over tHe * Wof fd!*' a Hiirghpr fpuld spareclj 

to escort therh to tbeyapit^l, Hqt 

sufficient n'urhber were (bid off to ' guard '/the ^farm- 

hduse^'f' Harbjd was ‘some what sUspicious'b^^^ this^af ” 

rapgement^su^picidus, ' tHaf somehow .Van ^wlefipn’' 

hiad' Haci, to do with ’ it ; .but he had pd mean's of mak- 

.hii^ .'jdl fii Idqri -Jifioi ■'•--r iy>\ 1 U) ;]niin ul 


320 


A Traitor in London. 


ing certain. The Dutchman had never come near 
them, but they feared him all the more now that he 
was out of sight, and fully expected some fresh 
trouble. As he had warned Mrs. Burton, he had not 
done with them yet. 

Occasionally they were visited by Piet Bok, and the 
old man still seemed as kindly disposed as ever, but as 
yet he could do nothing to help them; so for five days 
they had to make the best of their irksome captivity. 
Not even a book or a paper could they find. How- 
ever, putting aside the constant dread of Van Zwieten, 
they were not unhappy. The house stood so high 
that there was a splendid view of a large plain, and on 
the left a huddle of hills. Beyond these the fighting 
was going on, and the prisoners could hear the boom 
of the cannon and the shriek of shells. At times they 
could see the smoke of the battle afar off. Harold 
hoped that the advance of the army would bring them 
help at last, but the fighting was in a more westerly 
direction, and the hoped-for help never came. 

“If we could only escape, Brenda!” he said for the 
hundredth time. “ It is maddening to be shut up here 
and to listen to all that! We must make one desper- 
ate attempt to get away. You are not afraid, I know.?” 

“I am not afraid,” replied his wife, “but we must 
not be rash. We have no weapons, no horses, no 
food. I don't see how we are to manage it.” 

“Nor do 1, unless Piet Bok will help us. These 
men outside would give us no quarter if we tried to 
get away. They are just dying to get rid of us.” 

Brenda shuddered. “ Harold, don’t! It is terrible 
to think of. I feel sure all will come right in the end.” 


321 


In Captivity. 

“ It won’t if Van Zwieten can help it.” 

“ He will have enough to do to look after himself. 
Harold, that man will die!” 

“How do you know? Do you mean a violent 
death, and that soon ? ” 

“Yes, that is just what I do mean. My mother 
was a Highland woman, and had what they call sec- 
ond-sight. I have not got it myself, 1 suppose, because 
I am not a pure Celt. But I have enough of the seer 
in me to have a presentiment about that man! I feel 
certain that he will die by violence, and that shortly. 
I can’t explain myself more clearly.” 

“ One never can explain a feeling of that sort. You 
told this to Van Zwieten himself?” 

“Yes, and I frightened him. Perhaps that is why 
he has not been near us.” 

“I should not have thought he was superstitious, 
Brenda; nor you either, for that matter.” 

“I am not, as a rule,” was her reply, “but I feel 
that what I say is true. Van Zwieten will die! ” 

Harold, sturdy, stolid Englishman as he was, tried 
to argue her out of this idea, but he gave it up as 
hopeless. She had made up her mind that their 
enemy was a dead man, or would be dead within a 
few days. Strange to say, it was on that very day 
that he paid them his first visit. He looked as hand- 
some and as burly as ever. Going by appearances, he 
had a good many years of villainy before him yet. 

He came up to the veranda and saluted Mrs. Burton 
with a low bow of which she took no notice. 

“You are surprised to see me?” he said, with his 
usual cool insolence. 


3^:^' A Trmticrtiiip.’ Jl-oiidon. 

“I cannot Say fuamrsurpdsed ^lt lanyttoglyou 
H»W’;S.ldd«dailnful r?^t?dyj.ri3 ‘6’But Ifiyoulfiave 
come to make the same prO{!»ositiO!myiQ)ikitnadi3 

shajl liiot liatenjtolihso/padentlyir ' 
The Dutchman cast a quick" glar^e! atithfiiislehrdeh 
fig(iir«rfOf /the Qth^rnm^n.I fil(! vam;.npt afraid of ^fou,” 
he ;s;neiere4);fI/‘|y.<9i'U'/haMe weapons-4^inidtf>eH swjord 
nor;fev<)lyje.r>qqua 1 h I .trlgra-bno 

“ I danifua&iijayj fjs^lsl omislcch iaqbigibMlLyiasl 
yoUiU’ ! fiurn tiifit Juodii lfi3rnitn^2^/iq K ‘Viid ot ')rri ni 
A$i 2 ymiiitpleasQoDfBtiti 1 dt!>u’tb see /muthi chances of> 
delivering my mesS'age-.urltabyoiUi rdodeiiiateiylqur^tiDney'I 
iju‘/Wtet)43Lyl®Ur)ipes!sage?mi2(s^edfBrjendaifspeaking 
for the first time, "‘ilhjgniid ri3toiv/X rnf/ ot 'AcU blot 
Yd^/^Q(t)melt02qffeif.>yfouineddboir;otdg I bnu .edY “ 

“ On what conditions ?” nnon naod ton and ')d 

,at/oTtoey^re a^ejd Irlj.ov€r!jyour5{tiibn Kldohadlmy 
way I would kilbyounhUshajidiabd .raafryj younbiButi 
a^'fpgtnneltelyYlrpaidiykrrtZwletdn^ with. a sneered' I am 
amongst i^fyety/rnorafAfteopJe. Pietj Bbknhasit'bM the* 
BMft generals! afeom;Wili<at-th^yl;alpeiapleisedatQL<tall 
wielded pies^^jjapddl haVditen irifiorimedi that lif bpersistr 
i® jttiy plains linmay say gQod4bye to iiilbadvancernent! 
a^vpi^^g^b th^jtgodlydBoers.io Ibach. a poor vmaii^ ^ 
apid) qat^nopatf ond toj-lf^e iaJHdiaMe -gained: Ambition * 
fcKnmd ^mbstl^{ atrbnger-jham Isoyiel nSoit Mrsq Burton] t 
bgpveoyfnrikgrjqn yd gnioO .idv9 ?ji vliud ?.n bnn ^ 
“ ThapkuGiodibTjcl'i^disbe^ clasping Kerfhalnds,;: add-fl 
ing^a^ian/dftdrtholiagllted ‘iMrli-COuldi only <^elieve.yod I ” 
“Oh, yiiiiuijcanolPieHeve fiTte,d.M said gl^ .fMf 
onlyiiaj nkh' manr— richoerioughj <to glv^eiinp my 
position here— 1 would never rest until lybiatwCre mine.! ! 


Bat the ihdiCe' lies ‘hdW^betWBeh ^bii atfid itty pokifibh. 
I chdbse t'd los6‘‘ybi!i'/‘^^ 

hdvd ' no fear ‘ df ‘ Vn^! * * Vdii^ fekiV ’^o‘ '#'itH^yoiif*b‘iiiSbadd 
‘ WhdVd ydu^ ^ill J 'Ybd do^fi’bt IWe^ 

— bbt‘ hi’ib ‘ydii do do Vesuri WbffHytftodgbrir is 
“‘ '‘‘That ik^a lieF^'Capt^^ 

' ‘^Hus^h;- Haf(jld! ' lS'1t‘<Vot'yi'Whird^^rgbibgYa%>dyt^^ 

Let hiiVi 'gb‘‘bn.‘ Well,' vad*'ZWidteYi, "yofi‘>hafvfe 
comd to itell'Uk'tftfs/ Whki’dlsd’f^^ noiq<i 

- ( 1 1 <ui p it>rbd- t'd'dffef ^l!k* my 'a^sfMttte 'tb^Sse^jDd.^’ 
; d V^'6h !' ' TMt ^!k%bk I^ ‘hai^iiiy ‘e^pddtdd ' tb 'We^i^^ ybli 
say^ AHd'y^’ lriljsf^jDal'd'dH’ iWe''^ilp‘d^ dbrt’t^bJellfe^ 

yntifn <1 oiDfl)** <rtybIuofb. Ad bogguifb, sfl - 
in //< Ad’ydu^y>le!aSd,^^!Ve‘ka1dii^airJ^ •y16b*bkb'’eS- 

cape to-night if you willV- ‘^Hb^fheb' 
tyfo^^‘^ay‘with'‘M^^^hdftLy.‘^^ TWbyhdi^sbs%5>R b^e' left 
bihlhid— fbbijVi^'iPi Hddsd|cdM’hei^d'!ai4‘ a^tbutel^ of 
revolvers — ;one for you and one for Burton^*'^’’" ^ ds 
‘ ^ 'Tbdy tbbl( thV'Mieiapohk! iW‘SfIbhde.^di0({)i,^l^'(tdjs' be 
-Vail' Zwlettn^?' they'^di*<!!'bbf knbW^'hiJnHn thibnietv 
6f ‘silPaynegatib'ry, abB tke^^ydSpIcibllS bf l!)bt?h 
‘htikbahid'^add'Wife wbrb'tbdibd^hfy^arbukbdl'- Bdt'thfe 
^dVdllers ' 'Wefe^i gbbd ■ orteky aWd ■ ^hfey Hfeferd' ddaded. 
^dui&hi bb that he k^pdkb trtiy and'that^h^^wasi^anx^ 

■ i’6bs ^hdXv^itb' ' tetHeye 'hfe -p!^t, to’ ' glY e ■ lip 'hik' pltM^hg 
arfd 's(5ying-_ ^ah’d ' t6 live* d yirtbohs' life atndngSt^ thi tob*- 
moral‘‘Bbets, \Vhb'' Had indeed,^ ^rhapS,'foteed Mnhfb 

db‘tHiS’¥hihg P^^hnn oj djol'j'o Jn;!i ) In -^inoj lljifl?, 

‘ ’ Still ‘Bi^dnda looked 'dbubtfhlly 'at hinhf; fot^dtbpiil^ 
sofy'ri^hfcbdkhesS' WaS'so‘ibe\yhdt ^ai^d^tb ijffedrf. -'i^hl 
^seb'ybii dbri^t^beifeve nie,’^^ he ^aidparieY’a'' ptoe. 
“Well, perhaps you are right. It'iSfithdr ‘fatb'iriHhfe 


A Traitor in London.' 


324 

day for me to turn saint. But you may be sure I 
should not do this unless I had some very strong in- 
ducement. If you are taken to Pretoria you will only 
remain to vex my eyes, and I want to get you out of 
sight. That is my reason for giving you your free- 
dom. To-night I will send a messenger who will 
guide you to the British outposts. They are not so 
far off as you think. Buller has advanced almost to 
Spion Kop, and he has taken several of our positions. 
If he gets Spion Kop — and I understood Warren in- 
tends to capture it if he can — he will have the key to 
our position and will march on to Ladysmith. But ” 
— he shrugged his shoulders — "‘there is many a slip, 
you know. Well, I will go in and get my men. Will 
you follow my messenger?” 

“I can’t say yet,” Captain Burton said bluntly. 
“You speak fair enough, but this may be a trick for 
all I know.” 

“How should I benefit by a trick?” Van Zwieten 
asked. “ If I wanted to kill you I could do it now, 
and no one would be the wiser. The Boers here 
would shoot you with pleasure. But if I killed you 
and took Mrs. Burton, why, then, good-bye to my 
chance of becoming President of the Confederate 
States of South Africa. No, I will let you go; it suits 
me better. Love, as I said, must yield to ambition. 
But if you do not believe me, stay here. My messen- 
ger shall come at eight o’clock to-night. Follow him 
or not as you please. Good-bye, Mrs. Burton. You 
little know what it is to me to give you up; but you 
must say I afford ^you every chance of being happy 
with your husband.’ 


In Captivity. 325 

Brenda looked at him. She began to think he was 
acting in good faith after all. 

“ 1 am not ungrateful,” she said gently. “ We will 
follow your messenger. Good-bye,” and she held out 
ner hand to him. 

Van Zwieten bent over it and kissed it. Then he 
drew himself up, looked at Harold steadfastly and 
turned away in silence. 

“ Do you believe in him ? ” asked Brenda after a 
pause. 

“1 don’t know. Upon my soul, 1 don’t know. He 
is such a scoundrel. 1 wonder you could let him kiss 
your hand, Brenda! ” 

“Craft must be met by craft,” she replied in a 
whisper. “You silly boy, you don’t mean to say you 
are jealous of that ? Can’t you see that 1 wanted to 
disarm his suspicions so that we might get away 
safely ?” 

“ Then you don’t believe in him ? ” 

“No; he has some scheme in his head. Hush, it’s 
not safe to talk about it now — when he’s gone. Mean- 
while, let him think we accept his offer.” 

It would really seem as though Van Zwieten were 
acting straightforwardly for the first time in his life. 
The Boers who had been guarding the place got their 
rifles, saddled the horses, and, headed by Van Zwieten, 
took themselves off down the mountain-side, and were 
shortly afterward to be seen riding across the veldt in 
a northerly direction. Captain Burton, still suspicious, 
could not believe in his good fortune. With Brenda 
he proceeded to explore the house. It was empty. 
They searched the orchard, the sheep kraals, the Kaffir 


A Traitor in London. 


326 

huts — in fact, the whole domain, but they could find 
no trace of a single soul. No weapons had been left, 
but they had the revolvers. In the stable were two 
horses already saddled. Harold pointed this out to his 
wife. 

“Ready, you see, for the journey! ” said he. “ Van 
Zwieten is evidently very sure that we shall accept his 
offer." 

“Well, we’ll not disappoint him so far as the horses 
are concerned," replied Brenda; “ but as to waiting for 
his messenger, I don’t think we’ll do that." 

“Why, Brenda, what do you mean? We don’t 
know an inch of the country.” 

“Probably this messenger of Van Zwieten’s will 
know it rather too well for our liking. 1 don’t trust 
the arrangement in the least. Believe me, dear, he 
will only lead us into some trap and we shall be 
prisoners again." 

“I don’t see that Van Zwieten need have given 
himself the trouble to do that — we were his prisoners 
already." 

“I can’t see through it at present either. But, 
nevertheless. I’m sure there’s something at the back of 
his ostensible generosity." 

Captain Burton was at a loss how to interpret it. 
On the whole, he was inclined to trust to his wife’s 
instinct. He had no sort of premise on which to argue 
against it. 

So they had something to eat and decided to leave at 
sundown. Beyond the hills they knew the British 
were engaging the enemy, so if they made due west 
they had every hope of coming up with the outposts 


of the advancing column. There was, of course, 
always the chance that they might not get even so far 
safely, but that they preferred to risk rather than trust 
in Mr. van Zwieten. 

Their horses were wiry little animals enough, and, 
if put to it, could show a very pretty pace. They fed 
and watered them now preparatory to their start. On 
the whole they were sanguine. 

Then came a surprise. As they were making their 
own meal they heard from outside a voice hailing 
them in English. Harold rushed to the door and 
returned shortly with Piet Bok. The old man looked 
anxious, and hurried forward to shake Brenda by the 
hand. 

“Thank the dear Lord you are safe,” he said with 
emotion. “1 feared it might be otherwise — ^that you 
had fallen into that man’s snare.” 

“Then it was a snare!” cried Brenda, at this con- 
firmation of her own feelings. “Tell us. Mynheer 
Bok, what was his plan ?” 

“ Ach! is it not to tell it you and save you from it 1 
amhere.?^” He rubbed his hands. “I will show Van 
Zwieten that others can be slim as he. Beloved Lord, 
he is the seed of Satan, that man.” 

“He took away the guards, but he has left us 
the two revolvers and a couple of mounts all ready 
saddled.” 

“Quite so; and he is to send a messenger soon, is 
he not, to lead you to the British camp ?” 

“ Yes, yes.” 

“Believe him not. That messenger will not lead 
you to your camp, but to an ambuscade of Boers 


A Traitor in London. 


328 

headed by Van Zwieten himself. Then your husband 
here will be shot and you will be carried off.” 

“The scoundrel! The double-dyed villain! But 
why all this, mynheer.^ We were in his power 
already.” 

“No, you were not. You must understand that I 
have power with the burghers; yes, and I told them 
your story, and they were amazed at the wickedness 
of this man, and he was told to go out from amongst 
us lest the dear Lord should send evil on the host. 
Then he said he would desist from his wicked schemes 
and send you on to Pretoria to be dealt with by the 
President. But I overheard his conversation with the 
messenger whom he intends to send to you, and I 
know his plan. You are to be carried off, as I have 
told you, and in durance vile kept until the war is 
over. Your husband will be shot, probably by Van 
Zwieten himself. But of all this he will say not a 
word to the burghers, and thus he will maintain his 
place amongst them. You see why he does not act 
openly ? ” 

“ I see,” said Brenda, her color rising. “Now what 
are we to do ” 

“Come with me at once,” said Piet Bok. “I will 
lead you by another route to your outposts, and so 
shall we thwart this son of the pit. But you must 
come at once, there is not a moment to lose.” 

“ But the messenger ? ” 

“ Of course we do not wait for him. It would mean 
death to you or to him.” 

“Right you are, then; let’s get off straight away. 
It’s getting dark already.’* 


329 


In Captivity. 

Ach, yes! that is well. Come along, then.” 

Their trust in the old man was implicit. He had 
always proved a friend hitherto. The sun was setting 
in floods of gold over the mountain-tops as they rode 
down the path which descended to the veldt. Heavy 
rains had rendered the ground sodden. Piet Bok 
headed for a point in the hills where he said there was 
a pass other than the one in which Van Zwieten 
was waiting. Unluckily, as they started across the 
veldt, they saw a horseman coming toward them at 
full speed. 

“ The messenger! ” cried Brenda. “What are we to 
do now, mynheer.?” 

The old man unslung his gun. “Kill him,” he said 
quietly, “else he will ride on and tell Van Zwieten. 
If he sees me with you he will guess the truth. It is 
well known in laager that I am the enemy of Van 
Zwieten.” 

“Must he really be killed ?” asked Brenda, with a 
shudder. It was terrible to her that this man should be 
shot in cold blood. 

“It is his life or mine, dear,” said her husband, 
pulling out his revolver to be ready if Piet Bok should 
fail. 

But the approaching Boer was not going to trust 
himself at close quarters. He circled round them and 
held out a white flag in token of friendship. Harold 
laughed grimly as he recognized the old trick. Piet 
Bok sighted, and fired. But the fellow flung him- 
self flat down on his horse's neck and the shot missed 
him. 

He rode off with a defiant whoop. A big Dutch 


330 


A Traitor in London. 


oath escaped from the lips of Piet Bok, and he caught 
Brenda’s horse by the bridle. 

“We must ride for it,” he said. “The man recog- 
nized me, and you too. He will hasten back to Van 
Zwieten, and they will be after us in no time. We 
must make for the hills.” 

“How can I thank you, Bok.?” said Harold, grate- 
fully. 

“Almighty, that is right! you spared my boy Hans.” 

By this time the messenger was a mere speck on the 
horizon. He was riding like the wind to take this 
news to his chief. 

The three fugitives made a straight line for the pass, 
urging their horses to their best. The sun had dropped 
behind the mountains and the shadows were gathering 
fast on the veldt. For several hours they tore on until 
they reached the mouth of the pass. There they pulled 
up to give themselves and their animals breath. 

“I think we can count ourselves safe now,” said 
Piet Bok, wiping his brow. “ But we must push on 
through the pass. At the other side let us hope we 
shall come up with your men.” 

The track was narrow ahd winding and full of mud, 
which fouled the horses and made the climbing 
doubly hard. It was quite dark there, but Piet knew 
every inch of the path, and rode on ahead fearless and 
confident. In about an hour they emerged. There 
were the lights of the British camp twinkling a mile 
and a half away. 

As they commenced the descent they heard a shot 
ring out, and Brenda gave a cry of dismay. Piet Bok 
had fallen from his saddle. 


In Captivity. 331 

‘'Ride, ride for your lives!” cried the old man. 
“He has come round by the other pass.” 

And so it was. Van Zwieten, instead of following 
at their rear, had pushed through the other pass and 
had cut them off. But he had made one mistake. 
He had allowed them to get out of the pass on to the 
higher ground instead of cutting them off from the 
camp. As shot followed shot, Harold caught Brenda’s 
horse by the bridle. Headlong they tore down to- 
ward the plain. 

The light, or rather the dark, was all against the 
pursuers. They gave up firing and made to overtake 
them. But the sound of the muskets had already 
been heard in the camp, and they could hear the 
bugles ringing out. Whether the brave old Boer who 
had saved them was dead or not they did not know. 
It was beyond their power to aid him. They urged 
their horses on and on, for in their speed lay the only 
hope of escape. 

“Courage, Brenda!” cried Harold. “Stick to it; 
they’ve heard the firing in camp.” 

“ 1 will, dear — 1 will.” 

Then her husband looked round, and an exclama- 
tion of mingled relief and triumph came from him. 
They had given up the chase. 

“They’ve had enough of it, hurrah! ” he cried. 

They were now within a short distance of the camp, 
and could hear the commands being given consequent 
on what evidently had been taken for the commence- 
ment of a surprise on the part of the Boers. Those 
behind them had turned and fled now in the opposite 
direction — all of them save Van Zwieten. 


332 A Traitor in London. 

He stood up and fired twice. But his shot fell wide. 
Then Harold turned and tried what his revolver would 
do at that range. Van Zwieten’s arm fell useless. 
Then he galloped off, none too soon, for a squadron 
of mounted infantry came on the scene just at the mo- 
ment. 

“Whafs all this.^” shouted the captain in com- 
mand. 

‘‘We have escaped!” shouted Harold — “Burton 
and Mrs. Burton.” 

“ What, is it you, old man cried a friendly voice 
— a voice they knew well. 

For the fourth time Brenda had escaped her enemy. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

NEMESIS. 

Having no ambition toward enacting the role of 
heroine of an Adelphi melodrama, Brenda was be- 
ginning to weary of this game of hide-and-seek. 
However, she was safe for the time being, as even the 
redoubtable Van Zwieten could hardly be expected to 
take her from the midst of the British army. Harold 
reported the mishap which had led to the loss of his 
men, and afterward rejoined his company. He 
wished his wife to go back to Spearman’s Camp; but 
she begged so hard to remain that at last he consented. 
Permission was obtained from the authorities, and 
Brenda betook herself to her old task of nursing the 
wounded. She related to her friend the doctor as 
much of her adventures as she could without trench- 
ing too closely on her private affairs ; and great sur- 
prise was expressed at her perils and her lucky es- 
cape. But to Wilfred, who came to see her and his 
brother as soon as he heard of their rescue, she related 
everything in detail. 

“By Jove! what a scoundrel that fellow is! ’’said 
that young man. “ 1 wonder when he intends to 
leave you alone.” 

“Never, I fear,” replied Brenda. “Unless he is 
killed 1 shall never be safe from him.” 

“ I’ll shoot him myself if I get a chance. He is a 
danger to society — it must be some one’s business to 
333 


A Traitor in London. 


334 

put him out of the way. You have had a bad time, 
Brenda; but I don’t think you need fear the man any 
more.” 

“What makes you say that ? ” 

“ I have an idea that he has come to the end of his 
tether.” 

“So have I,” she said. “And I told him so. But, 
Wilfred, tell me about my father ?” 

“ He has gone back to Durban, as you know, to see 
the authorities about your disappearance. He thinks 
you have been taken prisoner by the Boers, and that 
you are at Pretoria by now. He is going to try and 
get you exchanged.” 

“There is no need for that, thank God!” said 
Brenda, cheerfully. “I must let him know at once.” 

“ That will be difficult unless you send a message 
from Ladysmith.” 

“When do you think we shall be there ? ” 

“ If the luck holds good, in a couple of days. We 
have taken most of the Boer positions; now Warren 
intends to try for Spion Kop to-night. If he captures 
it, we shall hold the key to the Boer position.” 

“Ah, you see Wilfred, your forebodings are all 
wrong.” 

“We are yet in the wood, not out of it,” replied 
he, significantly. '‘However, I will give Buller and 
Warren all praise. They have done well. All the 
same, I still condemn this plan of campaign. Only a 
miracle can render it successful.” 

“ Well, we shall see what happens when Spion Kop 
is taken. Do try and look on the bright side of things, 
Wilfred.” 


Nemesis. 


335 

But the young man departed, still shaking his head. 
There was no doubt that he was very depressing com- 
pany. His face wore a look of settled gloom most 
painful to behold; and he was always prognosticating 
calamity in the face of the most promising operations. 
At the same time he invariably refrained from pessim- 
ism in his letters to his newspaper, which were 
usually cheerful and full of devoted praise of the be- 
havior of both troops and officers. 

It was anxious work waiting in the hospital while 
Harold was in the field. But Brenda had not much 
time for thought. She was nursing the wounded with 
all her heart and soul, and was an angel of light 
amongst the weary, wounded soldiers. The doctor 
called her his right hand, as well he might. She de- 
prived herself of rest and food to be by her patients. 
Only when compelled to, did she lie down; and then 
it was in her clothes, ready to be up and doing at the 
call of duty. Her best qualities came out in this most 
arduous work. 

The grand attack on Spion Kop was to be made at 
night, in order to effect a surprise. All day long the 
operations went on in the field. Toward sunset 
Harold’s company had to dislodge a number of Boers 
who had entrenched themselves on the slope of the 
mountain. The position was taken and the enemy 
fell back; but not without considerable loss of life on 
both sides. Amongst the wounded was Harold, who 
was shot through the lung. It was dark when the 
news was brought into the camp, and the ambulance 
bearers started under a rising moon for this miniature 
battlefield. 


A Traitor in London. 


336 

Quite unaware of her husband’s mishap, Brenda 
was busy attending a dying man. But he was be- 
yond her aid, and died within a very short time of his 
being brought in. She was closing his eyes with a 
sigh at the horrors of war when one of the doctors 
told her that she was wanted. With a presentiment 
of bad news she went out and found Wilfred waiting 
to speak to her. He was greatly agitated and took 
her hand as if to give her courage. 

“ Brenda, 1 have bad news for you!" 

“ It is Harold! " she cried, pale to the lips. 

“Yes, it is Harold. 1 have only just heard.” 

“ He is dead ?” 

“No. I hope not — 1 don’t know; but he fell while 
leading the attack on one of the small kopjes. They 
are just going out to bring in the wounded. I 
thought ” 

“Yes, I’ll come,” said Brenda, anticipating his 
speech. “Is it far?” 

“No, not very. Make haste. God grant we may 
find him alive! ” 

She needed no second bidding, but hastily gathered 
together some medical comforts, wrapped herself in a 
cloak and came out. In silence they walked toward 
the fatal spot which had been pointed out to Wilfred 
by a private who had seen Harold fall. She did not 
weep. Her emotion was too deep for tears. The 
moment which she had been dreading all these months 
had arrived — unexpectedly, as all such moments do. 
Now she felt that the actual event was not so terrible 
as the expectation had been. There was a chance that 
he might be alive. He was wiry, healthy, clean- 


Nemesis. 


337 

blooded and clean living, and the Mauser bullets, as 
Brenda had seen, inflicted a clean wound. Full of 
silent prayer she walked on. Had she heard of this in 
England she would have been distracted; but some- 
how, since she was on the spot and would soon be 
with him, it did not seem quite so terrible. At all 
events he had fallen in the forefront of battle, doing 
his work, and not by the treachery of Van Zwieten. 
If he died he could not die more gloriously. There 
was comfort in that thought. 

“1 saw Van Zwieten to-day,” said Wilfred, sud- 
denly. 

“You did? Where? When?” asked Brenda, 
wondering if after all the scoundrel could have had 
anything to do with this mishap to her husband. 

“On the lower slopes. 1 was looking through my 
field-glass and saw him quite plainly riding about on a 
big black horse. I recognized him by his long golden 
beard. 1 am certain it was he; that was why I wanted 
you to come with me to see after Harold.” 

“I don’t understand ” 

“Because as Van Zwieten is about the place he is 
bound to hear that Harold has been shot. He has 
spies everywhere; and from one of our prisoners 1 
heard that he had described Harold's appearance to 
several Boer sharp-shooters, that the poor chap might 
be picked off.” 

“ Do you know the prisoner’s name?” 

“Yes; and he’s a fine old fellow who did good 
service to you — Piet Bok! ” 

“ Then he was not killed at the time we escaped ?” 

“ No, only touched on the right arm. He was taken 


A Traitor in London. 


338 

prisoner this morning. I would have come and told 
you, but I couldn’t get away. 1 saw him by chance, 
and he recognized me from my resemblance to Harold. 
1 told him he was wrong and then he informed me of 
Van Zwieten’s new villainy. By this time the man 
who picked off Harold has, no doubt, told Van 
Zwieten, and has received his reward. And that 
scoundrel will probably come down to see if the news 
is true.” 

“What?” shrieked Brenda. “Oh, don’t, Wilfred! 
If he finds Harold still alive he will kill him.” 

“That’s what I thought; and that’s why 1 got you 
to come with me. 1 feel certain that the brute will be 
there.” 

She uttered a cry of mingled terror and pain. “ Oh, 
Wilfred, do not let us lose a moment. Harold, my 
darling! ” She began to run. 

“Come, Brenda, keep as quiet as you can. You’ll 
need all your strength! ” 

A glprious moon filled the world with its pale radi- 
ance. The shadows of the mountains and kopjes 
were black as Indian ink in the white light. Here and 
there were points of fire, and in the distance a glimpse 
of the white tents of the camp. To the right rose the 
great mass of Spion Kop, with its flat table top dark 
and menacing. But a few hours and there would be 
a deadly struggle on that pinnacle. Already the gen- 
erals were maturing their plans for the assault. Occa- 
sionally the boom of a gun could be heard, for the 
Boers had not yet desisted from firing, in spite of the 
lateness of the hour. Brenda paid no heed to all this. 
She strained her eyes toward the rising ground they 


Nemesis. 


339 

were approaching. Was he dead or alive ? All her 
life was bound up in the answer to that question. 

The Indian bearers swung along at a slow trot, and 
she followed closely on Wilfred’s arm. He felt her 
shiver although the night was warm, and did his best 
to console her. And she never forgot his brotherly 
kindness at that terrible hour. 

They climbed up the slope which earlier in the day 
had been swept by rifle fire. Now the Boers had re- 
treated to another point of vantage, and the position 
was held by a small force of our men. As the ambu- 
lance party approached it was challenged and the 
word was given. In a few minutes the bearers were 
within the entrenchments. 

“Glad you’ve come,” said the officer in charge; 
“ there are many poor fellows here who require your 
attention. The enemy are removing their dead now.” 

He addressed these remarks to the doctor, but he 
saluted when he saw Brenda, whom he knew. “I 
expected you, Mrs. Burton. Your husband is over 
yonder. We have made him as comfortable as possi- 
ble.” 

“Then he is not dead .^” gasped Brenda, turning 
faint. 

“Oh, no,” he said cheerily, “he is worth a dozen 
dead men. You’ll soon pull him round. Over there.” 

He pointed to the left and she hurried away. Wil- 
fred lingered behind to speak to the officer. “ Have 
you noticed a particularly tall man with the Boers ? ” 
he asked, “a man with a golden beard 

“Yes. He asked after Burton. It seems he was a 
friend of his before the war.” 


A Traitor in London. 


340 

‘‘Has he seen him?” asked Wilfred, turning pale, 
for well he knew the reason of Van Zwieten’s in- 
quiries. 

“No, 1 think not. But he intends to look him up 
shortly. 1 think your brother will pull through. 
Burton,” and he hurried away to attend to his duties. 
Wilfred stood still and meditated. He grasped his 
revolver. “The man has lived too long,” he mur- 
mured; “ 1 must do it! ” 

Then he moved toward the group round his brother. 
Brenda was supporting his head, and a doctor was 
examining the wound in the poor fellow’s chest. 
“We must wait till we get him to the hospital,” he 
said. “ Have him put into the ambulance, Mrs. 
Burton.” 

“ Has he a chance, doctor?” she asked with quiver- 
ing lips. 

“1 can’t say yet. The bullet has pierced the lung. 
Hope for the best.” 

Then he hurried away with his attendants, and 
Brenda was left alone with her husband and Wilfred. 
Harold was quite unconscious, but breathing faintly, 
and as she bent over him, with an agonized face, she 
prayed that God would spare his life. Wilfred stood 
beside her and looked down silently on that counte- 
nance waxen in the light of the lantern. As he stood 
there, as Brenda placed Harold’s head on her knees, 
both heard a mocking voice beside them. 

“Well, Mrs. Burton, you are a widow at last! ” 

She gave a cry of horror at the ill-omened words, 
and Wilfred turned with a bound to clutch Van 
Zwieten by the throat. 


Nemesis. 


341 

“You hound!” he cried. “You miserable dog ! ” 
and he hurled the big man to the ground. 

Taken by surprise, the Dutchman had fallen; but he 
rose to his feet with an ugly scowl, cursing bitterly. 
“I’ll pay you out for this!” he said menacingly. “At 
present my business is with Mrs. Burton.” 

“ 1 refuse to speak to you,” cried she. “ You are a 
wicked man, and God will punish you.” 

“1 rather think that it is you who have been pun- 
ished,” he sneered. “ Your husband is dead, or pretty 
near it. Now it is my turn.” 

“He is not dead. He will live when you are lying 
in your grave. Leave me; you have done harm 
enough! ” 

“But he has not paid for it!” cried Wilfred, 
savagely. 

“No, nor will he pay!” cried Van Zwieten, de- 
fiantly. 

Wilfred pulled out his revolver. “I will make you 
pay ! ” he said. “ You shall fight me! ” 

The Dutchman was no coward, but he drew back 
from the terrible expression on the young man’s face, 
accentuated as it was in the strong moonlight. 

“ 1 refuse to fight with you,” he said sullenly. “ This 
matter has nothing to do with you. If I choose to 
marry your brother’s widow, that is my business. 
Mind your own! ” 

“You shall marry no one,” said Wilfred, harshly, 
“for I intend to kill you.” 

Brenda did not speak. She listened absently while 
the two men wrangled. Van Zwieten looked at her 
for a moment, then he turned his back on Wilfred. 


342 


A Traitor in London. 


‘‘ I will not fight you,” he repeated. 

The other man sprang forward and struck him on 
the cheek with his fist. “ Will that make you fight ? ” 

With a roar of rage Van Zwieten turned and flung 
himself forward. He caught the younger man in his 
arms like a child and threw him on the grass. Then 
he drew out his revolver and fired at the prostrate 
man. But Brenda had looked up, and seeing his in- 
tention had sprung to her feet and grasped his arm. 
The shot went wide, and in his rage Van Zwieten 
struck her — the woman he loved — struck her to the 
ground. And before he could recover himself suf- 
ficiently to fire a second time, he fell with a hoarse 
cry, shot twice through the breast by Wilfred Burton. 

“Nemesis has come up with you at last,” said the 
young man, picking up Brenda in his arms. 

The sound of the shots had attracted the attention 
of the men near at hand. “Good God, Burton, what 
.have you done ? ” cried an officer. 

“Killed some vermin,” was the reply. “Here, 
bring the ambulance along and put Burton into it.” 

“Wilfred!” shrieked Brenda, who had recovered 
her breath, “is he dead ?” 

“No,” said Van Zwieten, faintly, “not dead — but 
dying — I have lost! ” 

No one attempted to molest Wilfred. “I can ex- 
plain myself to the commanding officer,” he said. 
“ He will approve of what I have done.” 

By this time the other Boers had taken their depar- 
ture, or there might have been trouble at this violation 
of the armistice. Brenda aided the men to place 
Harold in the ambulance^ and when she had made him 


Nemesis. 


343 


comfortable, returned to the side of Wilfred, who was 
explaining his conduct to the officer in command. 
Van Zwieten heard her footstep — or he must have felt 
her presence near him. He opened his eyes. “lam 
done for,” he said. “I suppose it is just, but 1 loved 
you, Brenda!” 

Much as she hated him, she could not see him die 
there without making an effort to save him. She tried 
to staunch the wound, but it was impossible. The 
doctor had long since taken his departure. Seeing 
that all human aid was useless, she moistened the 
man’s lips with brandy. 

“Thank you,” he said faintly. “Will you forgive 
me ? ” 

“Yes, I forgive you,” she whispered, “but you 
must ask forgiveness of God.” 

Van Zwieten shook his head feebly. “ It is too late 
for that. Ask Burton to forgive me. He has pun- 
ished me. He can afford to be generous.” 

Wilfred overheard the words. “1 forgive you the 
ill you have done my farnily, but 1 do not forgive you 
for seeking the hospitality of my country and betray- 
ing it. Come, Brenda!” 

“I can tell you something about that,” said Van 
Zwieten, in a weak voice. “ Come near.” 

Quite unsuspicious, Wilfred knelt down beside him. 
In an instant Van Zwieten raised his revolver and shot 
him through the throat. He fell back with the blood 
pouring from his mouth. 

Van Zwieten laughed. “ Quits! ” he said. Then he 
fell back dead. 

All was confusion. Brenda knelt beside her brother- 


344 


A Traitor in London. 


in-law, and took his head in her lap, while the others 
crowded round Van Zwieten’s dead body. Wilfred 
opened his eyes, saw Brenda's eyes bending over him, 
and whispered, “ Bend down, quick! ” 

She put her ear to his mouth, and heard him whisper 
in broken words, “ In my breast-pocket — look your- 
self — packet — confession. I shot Malet.” 

“You — oh!” gasped Brenda. “Why?” 

Wilfred Burton raised himself up with one last ex- 
piring effort. “For England! ” he cried. “For Eng- 
land — God bless Eng ” Then he too fell back a 

corpse. Brenda fainted. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


CALM AFTER STORM 

Two weeks later Mrs. Burton was in Maritzburg, by 
the sick-bed of her husband. As prophesied by 
Wilfred, the attempt to relieve Ladysmith by storming 
the impregnable positions of the enemy had failed. 
Certainly Warren had been so successful as to have 
seized Spion Kop, but only to abandon it on finding 
the position untenable. Then Buller very wisely had 
fallen back on his original line of defence across the 
Tugela; and the retreat had been conducted in a 
masterly fashion, without the loss of a man or a gun. 
Brenda and her wounded husband had gone back also 
to Spearman’s Camp, and later on had gone on to 
Maritzburg. Wilfred was left in his lonely grave 
under the shadow of Spion Kop, where also lay the 
body of Van Zwieten. 

Harold’s wound was dangerous, but had not proved 
fatal. He had been invalided home by the doctors; 
and so soon as he might be able to travel he was to 
sail for England. But when that would be it was 
difficult to say. For some days he had hovered be- 
tween life and death; but now he had turned the 
corner and was gradually winning his way back to 
life under the loving and skillful care of his wife. 
He was out of danger and on a fair way to recovery, 
345 


34^ A Traitor in London. 

but it would be many a long day before he would be 
able to fight again. 

In the meantime, Mr. Scarse, hearing that his 
daughter was safe and sound, had now returned from 
Durban, and was staying at the same hotel. He was 
thankful to know that at last she was to be spared 
the persecutions of Van Zwieten, whose death he 
openly rejoiced in. He was greatly astonished at the 
news that Wilfred had killed Malet, but he hardly 
censured him so severely as a Little Englander might 
have been expected to do in the circumstances. But, 
indeed, Mr. Scarse was by no means so virulent 
against his country now as he had been in the past. 
His visit to South Africa had opened his eyes to the 
other side of the question, particularly to the many 
failings of the Boers. He had learned from experi- 
ence that England was not invariably wrong; that 
however she might blunder, she had usually right on 
her side. In fact, both as a father and a politician, 
Mr. Scarse was a reformed character. 

Harold was terribly distressed to hear of the death 
of his brother. For a long time Brenda kept the news 
from him, fearing its effect in his weak state. But the 
day came when it could no longer be withheld, and 
she was obliged to tell him the truth. 

It was a glorious tropical morning. Her father 
had gone out, and she was seated by her husband’s 
bed, holding his hand in her own. His beard had 
grown, he was thin and haggard, but his eyes were 
bright and full of intelligence. He was anxious, and 
able now to hear all that had to be told. And she told 
him everything. He was amazed. 


Calm After Storm. 


347 

“Wilfred killed Malet!” he said, hardly believing 
his ears. “ But he had a sprained ankle on that night. 
It is impossible! ” 

“ His sprain was feigned to protect himself,” replied 
Brenda, sadly; “it is all in his confession.” 

“ He left a written confession.^” 

“Yes, he wrote everything as it happened on that 
night, and carried the statement about with him, to 
be placed in the hands of you or myself when he died. 
Hush, Harold, dear, you must not speak. Here is my 
father.” 

Mr. Scarse entered on tiptoe to inquire how the 
invalid was getting on. He brought in some fruit — 
always a welcome gift to the convalescent. He had 
heard enough to acquaint him with the subject under 
discussion. So busy had Brenda been in nursing her 
husband that she had not found time to tell the whole 
story to her father. Now he asked her for details, and 
she went over them again for his benefit. 

“ But why did Wilfred kill the man ? ” he asked. 

“From sheer patriotic feeling,” answered his 
daughter. “ He found out that Mr. Malet was supply- 
ing information about our defences to Van Zwieten, 
and he remonstrated with him. Malet laughed at 
his scruples and denied his complicity. Then Wil- 
fred searched Mr. Malet’s desk and found papers 
which proved conclusively his treachery. Then it 
was he decided to kill him to save the honor of the 
family.” 

“Well,” said Scarse, reflectively, “murder is a 
terrible crime; but if ever it is excusable, surely it is 
in such circumstances as these.” 


A Traitor in London. 


348 

“So I think,” chimed in Harold. “ A man who be- 
trays his country should not be allowed to live. In 
his place I would have acted just as Wilfred did. 
It was not a murder; it was well-deserved extermina- 
tion.” 

“It is terrible, nevertheless. Read the confession, 
Brenda,” said Mr. Scarse. 

“ No. I can tell you the story better. Harold must 
not be wearied, and the confession is long. Wilfred 
has stated at great length the reasons which led him 
to this act, and sets out a strong defence of it. He 
never regretted it at all events.” 

“Go on, Brenda, dear child. I am anxious to hear 
how he did it.” 

She glanced at Harold to see if he was listening, 
and began: “I need not weary you with his own 
defence,” she said. “ As I have told you, from papers 
in Mr. Malet’s desk he found out that he was a 
traitor, and was supplying Van Zwieten with infor- 
mation concerning the plans of the Government, the 
number of men and guns which we could place in the 
field, and many other things which the Transvaal 
authorities wished to know. Had Kruger and his 
gang not known that we were wholly unprepared, 
they would not have dared to defy Great Britain and 
risk this war. Mr. Malet, it appears, is responsible for 
a great deal — indeed, for the whole war! ” 

“The scoundrel!” Harold said weakly. “1 an, 
glad, indeed, that Wilfred shot him. 1 would have 
done so myself.” 

“To ward off suspicions from his doings, Malet 
posed as an Imperialist. He saw Van Zwieten only 


Calm After Storm. 


349 


at intervals. It was to obtain possession of some 
papers from Malet that Van Zwieten came down to 
Chippingholt, and for that reason he extorted an in- 
vitation from you, father.” 

“I thought he was anxious to come,” Mr. Scarse 
said. “ Now I can see it all.” 

She continued: “Wilfred heard that Van Zwieten 
was at the cottage, and kept a sharp eye on Malet. 
He found out that he was to meet Van Zwieten on 
that night and give him some documents. He then 
made up his mind to kill him, to save — as I have said 
— the honor of the family, as well as to punish him 
for his wickedness in betraying his own country. 

“Shortly before nine o’clock. Van Zwieten came to 
the Manor and entered the library by one of the 
French windows. It was his voice that Lady Jenny 
heard when she went to see if her husband was back 
from his walk. Indeed, it was Malet who brought 
Van Zwieten to the library to give him the papers. 
When Lady Jenny was on her way to the Rectory to 
see you, Harold, Wilfred escorted her. She mentioned 
that she had heard voices in the library, and wondered 
with whom her husband had been speaking. Wilfred 
guessed at once that the man was at his scoundrelly 
work, and was more than ever determined to put a 
stop to it. To get away from Lady Jenny without 
exciting her suspicion, and also to prove an alibi in 
case he shot the man, he pretended to sprain his 
ankle. Lady Jenny was quite unsuspicious, and 
went on to the Rectory alone. As you know, she 
never reached it, having been stopped by the storm. 
As soon as she was out of sight, Wilfred hastened 


350 A Traitor in London. 

back to the house with the intention of confronting 
both men, and killing Malet if he did not take the 
papers back from Van Zwieten. He also entered the 
library by the French window, so the servants never 
saw him come in. He found the room empty, as Van 
Zwieten had gone away, and Malet with him — 1 sup- 
pose it was to receive further instructions. Wilfred 
saw the revolvers belonging to Harold on a side-table, 
for Mr. Malet had been using them that afternoon. He 
took one, found that it was loaded, and hastened 
after the pair. Knowing that Van Zwieten was at our 
cottage, he went first in that direction; but for a long 
time he could see neither of them. At last he caught 
sight of Malet in the orchards, just before the storm. 
He was talking with a man whom Wilfred took to be 
you, father.” 

“ My brother, I suppose ? ” 

“Yes,” replied Brenda. “It was Uncle Robert. 
He heard high words between the two and saw the 
struggle.” 

“ That was when the crape scarf was torn ?” 

“Undoubtedly. Malet must have torn it and held 
it in his hand without thinking. Well, Wilfred saw 
Malet throw the other man to the ground just when 
the storm broke, and hurry away to get back to shelter 
in the Manor; but the storm was so violent that he 
took shelter instead under a tree. Wilfred crept up to 
him and waited, but it was so dark that he could not 
see him plainly enough to shoot straight, and he was, 
of course, unwilling to risk failure. Then a flash of 
lightning revealed Mr. Malet. Wilfred sprang forward 
and grasped him by the shoulder. He cried out. I 


Calm After Storm. 


351 

heard him myself. I was only a short distance away. 
When the darkness closed down again, Wilfred put 
the muzzle of the revolver close to his head and blew 
his brains out. Then he ran away, and in the dark- 
ness tripped over a stump. The revolver flew out of 
his hand, and he lost it.” 

“Van Zwieten found it ? ” 

“Yes. Wilfred was a good deal troubled about it, 
for he knew that Harold’s name was on it, and he 
feared lest he should on that account be accused of the 
murder.” 

“As I was, indeed,” said Harold. 

“Yes, dear, I know; but not officially. If, for in- 
stance, you had been arrested on the charge, then 
Wilfred would have come forward and have told the 
whole story. As it was, he kept silence.” 

“And what did he do after he had killed Malet?” 
asked Mr. Scarse. 

“ He went back to the place where Lady Jenny had 
left him, and waited for some time in case she should 
return. You see, to exonerate himself he thought it 
well to keep up the fiction of the sprained ankle. 
Then, as Lady Jenny did not return, he went home, 
and gave out that his ankle was sprained.” 

“ But didn’t the doctors find out the truth ?” 

“ No ; he took good care not to show his foot to any 
one. He wrapped it up in wet cloths and made a great 
fuss about it, but, in the excitement over the inquest, 
the doctor took no notice of it.” 

“I wonder Lady Jenny didn’t find out the fraud,” 
said Harold. 

“In that case, Wilfred would have owned up to it 


352 


A Traitor in London. 


and confessed the whole thing. And I don’t believe 
she would have minded much, if she had known what 
a traitor her husband was.” 

“No; 1 dare say she would have applauded Wil- 
fred. She is a true patriot is Lady Jenny,” said 
Harold, with a feeble laugh. “Besides, on account 
of Robert’s wife, she and her husband had become 
estranged for many a long day. But did Van Zwieten 
never guess ? ” 

“No,” said Brenda, reflectively, “1 don’t think he 
did. He believed Lady jenny herself had done it out 
of revenge; but he could not prove that, and, under 
the circumstances, lest his own affairs should come 
out, he thought it wiser to hold his tongue. Well, that 
is the story, and a very painful one it is. I am sure 
that Wilfred acted for the best, and did what he con- 
ceived to be his duty both to his country and his family; 
but it is dreadful to think he should have stained his 
hands with blood.” 

“1 don’t altogether agree with you, my dear,” said 
Mr. Scarse, energetically. “If Malet had been de- 
tected in his treasonable dealings, under martial law he 
would have been shot openly. As it was, Wilfred 
executed the sentence privately. I am not one to 
defend murder, you know, but I cannot bring myself 
to look upon this as murder.” 

“Wilfred was insane on the subject of patriotism,” 
said Harold. “ He was hardly responsible for his 
actions when he shot Malet. I don’t blame him. The 
reptile deserved his punishment; and Van Zwieten de- 
served his fate. Wilfred did no more than was right, 
and he rid the world of two scoundrels.” 


Calm After Storm. 


353 

“ You forget, Van Zwieten fired first,” put in 
Brenda. “Wilfred only defended himself. 1 can’t 
pretend I am sorry that Van Zwieten is dead, because 
so long as he lived he would never have ceased to per- 
secute me. But let his evil die with him, Harold.” 

“So far as that goes I never want to hear his 
name! ” 

“Now you are overtaxing your strength talking, 
dear,” said Brenda, arranging the bedclothes. “ You 
must be quiet and try and rest.” 

“ Yes, do,” said Mr. Scarse. “I want to have a few 
words with Brenda.” 

So Harold lay back, and, after a time, fell into a 
sleep. His wife told off one of the nurses to stay 
beside him, and herself went out with her father. 
When they had gone a short distance he explained 
why he wished to speak privately with her. 

“Brenda,” he said, “a will was found on Van 
Zwieten. It seems that there is a sum of some five 
thousand pounds standing to his credit at one of the 
London banks.” 

“ Really, father; I never thought he was so well off. 
Evidently spying paid. To whom has he left it ? ” 

“ To you, my dear! ” 

“To me.?” She could hardly believe her ears. “I 
would not take it if I were starving. I hated the man. 
How could I touch his money .?” 

“ But, Brenda, think for a moment; is it not foolish 
to throw it away ? Five thousand pounds is a large 
sum.” 

“No, no, no!” repeated the girl, vehemently. “I 
will not touch it, I tell you. That money was made 


354 


A Traitor in London. 


out of spying and working evil against England. I am 
sure Harold would think as 1 do about it.” 

And so Harold did think. Later on, when she 
returned, she found him just awakened out of a 
refreshing sleep, and she told him of Van Zwieten’s 
strange bequest. He refused at once to accept it, and 
commended her for having forestalled him in the 
decision. 

“ We can live on our own means, small as they are, 
dear; and, when the war is over, I will beat my 
sword into a ploughshare and come out here and turn 
farmer.” 

“That is if we are successful,” said his wife 
smiling. 

“Oh, I have no fear as to that. In a month or two 
there will be equal rights for white man and black 
from the Zambesi to the Cape. But, in any case, 
there’ll be no more fighting for me, Brenda. I shall 
never be the same man again.” 

“ Who says so ? ” she asked quickly. 

“The doctor. He says this wound will always 
trouble me, and that I shall never be able to stand the 
English winters. Here the air is balmy and the climate 
mild.” 

“ In that case we’ll do just as you suggest, dearest. 
There is nothing to keep us in England. My father is 
wrapped up in his politics, and my aunt and uncle care 
only for themselves. Yes, you are right, as you 
always are, Harold. When the war is over we will 
settle here.” 

“We shall never think less of dear old England 
because we are exiles, eh, Brenda?” 


Calm After Storm. 


355 

“Exiles! We shall not be exiles here. This is part 
of the British Empire. Wherever the map is colored 
red there is England. Harold, dear, do you know, I 
cannot get poor Wilfred out of my thoughts. In his 
own way he was a true hero. He gave his life for his 
country.” 

“Yes, Brenda, I agree, just as much as many 
another man is doing here at this moment. I cannot 
help feeling relieved that the mystery of Malet’s death 
is cleared up, and I am not ashamed now that I know 
it was my brother who fired the shot. May such 
justice ever be done to traitors! ” 

She knelt beside the bed and took his hands sooth- 
ingly in her own. “ Don’t talk any more about these 
things, dearest. They excite you. 1 shouldn’t have 
mentioned it. Let the past lie buried. All 1 know, 
and all 1 care for, is that you are alive, and that 1 have 
you wholly to myself. We will never be parted, 
Harold. We may be poor in the world’s goods, but 
we are rich indeed in love.” 

“And that is the best of all riches, dearest.” 

“Amen,” she said and kissed her husband tenderly. 


THE END. 


Hagar of the Pawn-Shop 


By FERGUS HUME, 

size Cloth y j statnfingSy $1.00* 

Those who like detective stories will get much enjoy- 
ment out of the ten in this book, which have connection 
enough to give them a certain continuity. Hagar, a gypsy 
girl, has a wonderful personality, great shrewdness, penetra- 
tion, and judgment, beside being very handsome, dignified 
and self-respecting. There are ten different customers, each 
of whom brings some peculiar article to pawn, and the article 
has a story of its own, or a very strange mystery. She 
unravels the mystery, brings criminals to their punishment, 
and restores fortunes. It is all cleverly done, and Hagar’s 
sagacity is something to be admired. The author is Fergus 
Hume . — Literary Worldy Nov. 25. 

Hagar Stanley, a gypsy, and niece of the dead wife of a 
miserly old lyondon pawnbroker, is driven by the unwelcome 
attentions of a gypsy half-breed suitor to flee from her tribe 
in the New Forest. She takes refuge with old Jacob Dix, 
the pawnbroker, who, before his death, is trapped by a cheap 
lawyer into trying unsuccessfully to disinherit his son in favor 
of Hagar, who defeats the plot, only to discover that the 
son is the man who drove her from the gypsy tribe. The 
adventures of the two form the material for Mr. Hume’s new 
story . — The Mail and Express y Oct. 26. 

This is a volume of detective stories by Fergus Hume, 
whose “ Mystery of a Hansom Cab” w'll be recalled as a 
clever bit of writing. Between “The Coming of Hagar” 
and “The Passing of Hagar” are grouped ten stories, each 
bearing a separate interest, but each linked together so that 
they follow in natural order . Hagar is an interesting young 
Gypsy who comes into charge of a pawn-shop of very doubt- 
ful character in a somewhat unusual way. Her adventures 
and those of her customers are entertaining and lively and 
the tales are of a stirring character. When Conan Doyle, 
with Sherlock Holmes, lifted detective stories to a higher 
plane than they had occupied since the days of Edgar Allen 
Poe, he opened the way for other writers to explore the field. 
Fergus Hume has done so with much success ; and the present 
volume is sure of a numerous clientage among those who 
like the bizarre in fiction. — American. 

At all booksellers or will be senty 
fostpaidy upon receipt of price by 

F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY 

g-IZ East j6th Street, New Tori 




18 moi 


MARf'lS 1«>0t 



> 


i 


1 


■m:? 



’ . i 


« , t 








\' 




* V 'V.'k.f *'. 


' ■• '• ( •' ‘ \ ' ' 






* , • 


I •■. 


ki 


( t 




\ ' 




^ i' 

I ^ * *^% ■ 


' I 

/ 


H* , ^ ‘ 

. t\ J 

% 


z d 




. , *-r: ■ 

* 'c'- •'■ h-" ■ i 


. ■»: iJ 


/»• 
*v 


> --s’ 


I rfi ■ ' 

iirri' 55)‘ y- 


< 

~p ■» •- ^ 

. « 


^ « 


r ‘ 


«.• ? 




4 >' 


’f p**' 


■=■••• %•►• t 'dd ** 

- •‘O Z 


s 


** *S • .Iff ^ 






V 


■V 


• -.'t V ■ '**'■ - 'u* ,. 

■ ..y '*■ V* ,fAfc>i 

■' '*1^' ••'■'*;■•• • .^’4V • 



V ti 





I" V‘* • 

ri i“ / 

V''v' ,. 

' ' , ' ' ' ■ « 


• /, 



% 


\ 

• ua.. 

• ., 

> kr 


4 


:)■ 


• ‘'f. 


• « 


■r ' 


■k. 


. 7 ' , 


» I 


\ N V ' 



IV 


r. '.!. ' 

I- I »• t 


..i* 


\ . ‘ 


r I 









iV'i 


... 

.V . / ., 


•S 4 i r \ 
, . I ' o 

. '/ 


k 


SL 


- . V »**</ 


i. 


V \ 
t»' « 

« 

■l 



k - ,-.1 


V" 


« ’»• 

. 

. \ 


• \' '•-, 

. I 




< 'l 


> •- > 

I 


“V- 


'V 


,N 


r" : : 


< ■ 


■/v: :yy 





V 


O *' t' V -//'.J 

' ' • '•'^ ■ •' ^ !• ' ' X , 

V k i j?' , -jJ' TT‘i; /w I ' 




I ■' 

' i' i. 


' s f 



c- fj: 


« 


/ 


I. V: 'V, i ■ 




L V^*.^ ^■' ) •!' ^ ® 'f' ■• • r ’*'♦ ^ ft uNrtik -ii' 

^ V>' -^^■/^l ^ ^ i ; • 5 A r» #?v-A 




m 


>1*^- 


'♦ *■ 


jiW-* 





.\ 







